Finlay’s Duty: The Victorian Highlanders Book 2

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “Your father believes my experience can be of help, and—”

  “I dinna care what my father believes would be useful,” he said, fire in his dark grey eyes as they narrowed at her. “I have no need to learn the MacTavish way of doing things. We have seen how well the people respond to those methods.”

  “For the love of all that is holy,” she said in exasperation, raising her hands in the air before letting them slap back down against her legs as she finally gave up, letting him walk ahead of her as her eyes bore a hole in his back.

  She heard a footstep behind her and turned to see Adam coming up the walkway, joining her as she stared after his brother.

  “Never mind Finlay’s moods,” he said, clearly sensing the tension between them, though the sentiment seemed forced. “’Tis just his way. Take no offence by it.”

  “His moods are one thing,” she muttered as she crossed her arms over her chest. “His unreasonableness is another. Does he never listen?”

  “No,” Adam said with a chuckle, “never.”

  * * *

  Kyla was determined not to let go of her ideas. The McDougalls had wanted to unite the clans to create a better future for all of them, and that’s what she was going to do.

  “Duncan,” she said that night, as the seven of them sat around the table in the dining hall, “I have an idea.”

  Finlay shot her a warning glance. “Kyla, I—”

  “Let her speak, son,” his father interrupted him. “I’d like to hear what she has to say.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the layout of the lands,” she said, before proceeding to describe her thoughts on how to better maximize the land for more ease of access to the fields, while moving the families closer to one another and the common grazing land.

  Duncan listened to her, contemplating her words while Finlay sat in stony silence.

  “I like it,” he said after an anxious few moments, “’tis worth a try, tis it not?”

  “Is that not what we have been trying to avoid, Father?” Finlay interjected. “Raising the ire of our clansmen?”

  “I understand what you are saying, Finlay, but we also must be able to turn a profit, or there will be nothing left for any of us,” he responded. “Perhaps we need to try this and see what comes of it.”

  “I’m not suggesting we move the families to lesser lands,” Kyla said urgently. “Simply different land. Then it would allow all better access to the fields and would make it easier to plant and harvest.”

  Adam looked impressed with her suggestion, while Roderick winked at her and Peggy gave her a reassuring nod. Even Jane smiled at her with affection. Only Finlay looked unconvinced.

  “Finlay,” Duncan said, “what say you? Should we consider this further tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Do ye not think we need more time to review, to talk to our clansman, to—”

  “We’ll simply discuss it tomorrow, Finlay,” Duncan said, holding up a hand to stop his son’s flow of words. “But soon it will be time for action. This is why we have joined the clans, to incorporate some of their ideas. Let’s attempt this.”

  Finlay stewed throughout the rest of the supper, not saying another word. When they rose from the table, he muttered an “Excuse me” and headed for the stairs leading to his chamber.

  Kyla knew she should sit down with his family, speak to the reasonable McDougalls to further the plans. But this had gone on long enough. The man was her husband, and, like it or not, he was going to have to compromise in some situations. Feeling the eyes of his family watching her, she started up the stairs after him, seeking out one room she had yet to enter—his bedchamber.

  She opened the door without knocking to find him sprawled out on the bed, clad only in his short kilt, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, apparently deep in thought.

  “Finlay—”

  He said nothing as he pushed himself off the bed, crossed to the door and pulled her in, slamming it shut behind her.

  9

  Kyla was completely caught off guard.

  “Finlay, what in the—”

  He silenced her by pulling her close and crushing his lips upon her. She sensed that all he had never put into words—his frustrations, his passion, his yearnings—he was pouring out into the kiss. As his lips slanted down on hers and his strong fingertips kneaded into her back, she was shocked by the intensity of his passion. She would never have guessed that he had wanted her, and even now she wondered how much of his kiss and his embrace was because he desired her, or because he wanted her to agree with him outside of this bedroom.

  She should push him away and determine what this meant. Why he was doing this, what he wanted from her. This certainly had not been part of their deal.

  But all rational thoughts fled when the coil of desire whipped through her, striking every part of her body as he kissed her relentlessly.

  Kyla shocked herself by kissing him back with equal measure. Her hands crept up the hard planes of his bare chest, sliding around his neck and into the dark silk of his hair. He was a beautiful man, strong, hard, unrelenting. And yet… Kyla hoped, wondered if this was his way of showing her the more vulnerable side of himself, the part that he hid from all.

  He turned her to the bed, lifting her on top of it with strong arms before leaning over and covering her with his warm body. She breathed deeply when he pushed himself back from her and stared deeply into her eyes, before lowering his gaze to her lips.

  Were they going to do this? Was she going to lay with her husband?

  Kyla knew it would accomplish nothing, would only make their relationship more complex than it already was. They should be sharing words, not bodies.

  But that didn’t seem to matter when he bent his head to taste her lips once more. His tongue stroked hers in an intricate play as heat coursed through her. She leaned up, running a hand over his hair, fisting it in her fingertips and—there was a quick knock on the door before it was shoved open.

  “Fin, I need you to—oh!” Roderick hastily backpedaled out the door. “Am I ever sorry Fin, Kyla. Goodnight!”

  Neither Finlay nor Kyla looked at him, Finlay because he was still staring so intently at her, Kyla because she was mortified, although why she didn’t know. She was in—well, on top of—the bed with her husband, which was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. The spell that had captivated them both was broken, however, as her mind cleared and Finlay’s words and attitude toward her from earlier in the day and during the meal downstairs came flooding back into her consciousness.

  She pushed herself off the bed and started for the door, realizing how she must look as she straightened her dress and brought her cool hands to her warm, flushed cheeks.

  “Leaving so soon?” Finlay drawled out as he watched her go. She halted her steps.

  “I… aye, that was rather sudden, and I’m just not sure I…” Kyla floundered for the words as she kept her back to him, her gaze riveted on the door.

  “Goodnight, Kyla,” he said wryly as she turned the doorknob and began to ease the door open. “Ye know, there is an interconnecting door, should you ever choose to use it.”

  She gave a quick nod of her head before slipping out into the hallway and back to her own bedroom as fast as she could.

  Kyla threw herself onto her bed, alone, her thoughts racing. What was she thinking? This man was ignorant, rude, and blatantly ignored her. She had gone up to his room to tell him that she would no longer be disrespected by him in front of his family, and when he had kissed her, she had allowed every rational thought to flee. She was a smarter woman than that. But she had allowed herself to become caught up in the moment and had let her actions get away from her. Apparently, Finlay didn’t want to actually speak with her and had resorted to extreme measures to keep her silent. So be it.

  She resolved that the following day she would ride back home—her former home, that was—to see what had been transpiring with the MacTavishes since she had left. She was conce
rned for her brother and her father, and hoped that all was well without her.

  She fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of Finlay McDougall.

  * * *

  Finlay had a restless night, both his mind and body full of thoughts of Kyla and what could have been. When she had walked through the door, he had seen the anger on her face, and he had been done with it. He didn’t want this enmity, this tension between them, but could not think of the words to make things right. Instead, his body had reacted before his mind could even comprehend what he was doing, and he had taken her in his arms the way he had dreamt of for years.

  He had been stunned when she had responded with equal measure. Damn Roderick and his interruption. If he hadn’t come in when he did… but there was no point in wishing for what could have been, he supposed. Besides that, when he and Kyla did finally come together—if they ever did—it should be because she was as fully interested and as willing as he was…not simply swept up in the heat of lust.

  He resolved that if he were to ever have Kyla beneath him on the bed again, there would be much more than a passionate kiss, and that she would be as willing to initiate as he was.

  He knew, deep within him, that there was only one way to make her truly want him…to be the man she desired him to be, a man who was much more understanding and rational, who would say all of the things she wanted to hear. If he was smart, he thought as he rose before the sun, splashing water on his face in an attempt to make up for his lack of sleep, he would simply pretend to be that man.

  But Finlay was too stubborn to be someone he was not. No, she would have to take him for who he was, with no false pretenses. He wouldn’t apologize for his character.

  Although, he considered as he left the room and took the stairs in anticipation of breakfast, perhaps he could soften his edges somewhat.

  It couldn’t hurt to try.

  * * *

  Kyla woke the next morning to a chilly room, the fire having burnt down in the night and the cool autumn air circulating through the window and around the bedchamber. She made a note in her mind to be sure to close the window before she fell asleep the coming night. She dressed in a skirt of McDougall tartan with a shawl over her blouse, and descended the stairs for breakfast.

  It was fairly silent in the house. The McDougalls were early risers, for the most part, and despite her best efforts to wake early, they always seemed to have finished their meal and left the table before she came down. Often one of them would wait for her in politeness, but she knew there was much work to be done and she would bid them farewell as she told them to go on their way.

  This morning, Peggy was there waiting for her, a grin on her face.

  “Good morning!” she chirped. “Tell me, what happened last night?

  “Whatever do you mean?” Kyla asked, feigning innocence.

  “Between you and Finlay of course!” Peggy responded eagerly. “Roderick said—”

  “Peggy, that is enough,” Jane said as she walked into the room, cutting off her daughter. “Kyla has nothing to explain to you and Roderick shouldn’t be talking of such. Kyla and Finlay are married and this is between the two of them.”

  “But Mother—”

  “No protesting, darling,” Jane said, silencing her as she sat between them. “Now Kyla, lass, what are you planning for today?”

  “I was considering a visit to my father and brother,” she responded, grateful for Jane’s timely entrance.

  “Ah, lovely,” she said. “Do send my regards.”

  “May I come with you, Kyla?” asked Peggy.

  “I’m not sure Kyla invited you,” said Jane as she poured tea for the three of them.

  “Of course, Peggy, you’re welcome to come.” Kyla smiled at her. Peggy was not much younger than Kyla herself, yet at times Kyla often had the sense she was significantly older than the other girl. Perhaps it was due to the presence of Jane in Peggy’s life—having a doting mother meant Peggy hadn’t had to grow up quite as quickly as Kyla had.

  They finished breakfast and prepared for the ride ahead, saddling up their horses and riding out of the courtyard. It was a longer journey with Peggy—she was a rather poor rider, despite the McDougall riding prowess—accompanying her, but much more entertaining.

  The MacTavish land was quiet when they arrived. The tiny cluster of cottages to where most of the crofters had been relocated was not much to speak of, as many of the clan members had left for the Americas or south to Glasgow, Edinburgh, or to another European country. Kyla knew those that remained resented her family for the choices they had made. For the most part, those that stayed desperately fished or kelped for income.

  She understood why her father made the decisions he had, although she thought they could have been acted upon with more tact and forethought. She could admit that he hadn’t been much concerned for the outcome of his crofters, and had ignored any of her suggestions concerning them. Instead, he had basically cleared the land as he saw fit.

  Her brother must have seen the two of them coming, for when they arrived at Darfield Keep, Rory exited the castle doors, coming to help them from their horses and enveloping Kyla in a hug.

  “Ah, Peggy McDougall,” he said as he turned to the girl. Her cheeks blushed a deep pink, and Kyla suddenly realized why Peggy had been so keen on accompanying her.

  “Rory,” Peggy said, dipping her head but saying nothing more, which was uncommon for Peggy.

  “Well,” said Kyla, breaking the silence that stretched between the three of them. “How are things, Rory? Are you surviving without me?”

  “Barely,” he laughed. “I dinna think Father quite realized how much you took care of around here. He may be coming to regret marrying you off to the McDougall. Come, it’s near enough to dinner for you to eat with us. Father has hired a woman from the village to take care of the food preparation. She is quite the cook—perhaps I’ll marry her myself to keep my stomach content.”

  Seeing Peggy’s eyes widen, he laughed.

  “’Tis a joke,” he said. “Mrs. MacLaughlan is fifty, to be sure.”

  Rory entertained them through the meal, reveling in the audience Peggy provided him as he told stories of the parties and casinos in London and Glasgow where he had recently visited, and of the noble lords and ladies and their indiscretions, who entertained him despite the way they looked down their noses at the likes of him, a Highlander.

  It was what Rory was good at, Kyla thought as she smiled to herself. Charming the ladies and telling stories. Unfortunately, it was not much of a money-making skill, particularly when it came to their lands. Though, she admitted, he was enticing people to visit their woodlands to hunt. She just wasn’t sure if she welcomed the practice.

  One thing was certain—Rory would have to soon learn how to take his energies from the parties and the women of the south and transfer them to prospering here, as her father’s interest in the responsibility for their lands continued to wane.

  “Where is Father today?” she asked him when they had finished the meal, which was every bit as good as Rory had promised.

  “He’s reviewing the ledgers,” said Rory. “It’s been some time since he has had to do so as you were so adept at it, Kyla. I know you explained them some before you left, but you began a new system and Father cannot quite seem to follow it.”

  “You were to help him, Rory,” Kyla said, exasperation overcoming her. She had done all possible to prepare her father and brother but, apparently, it hadn’t been enough.

  “Ach, he does not need my help, he’ll learn it soon enough,” Rory said, causing Kyla to drop her head into her hands. “Now Peggy, have you ever been to a masquerade? No? Well, let me tell you—”

  As he launched into his next tale, Kyla excused herself and went to find her father.

  Niall was holed up in his study, books and papers scattered around him, ink spilled on the desk beside his elbow. It looked as if he had made a half-hearted attempt to clean it up, but he had left most of it dri
pping off the counter and onto the floor.

  “Father?” Kyla knocked on the open door and stepped over the threshold and into the room.

  “Kyla! I dinna believe I’ve ever been more pleased to see you,” he said, although his tone was not welcoming but accusatory. “What in all that is good and holy have ye done with my books? I canna follow anything you’ve done, and nothing that I’ve entered since you’ve left will balance with what ye had from before.”

  Kyla sighed and pulled up a chair beside him, organizing the stacks of books and papers surrounding them as she began to review his work. She soon realized he had greatly exaggerated his own efforts, as he had not actually done much at all since she had left.

  Kyla had reorganized the entries and the accounting in ways that made sense to her, so that she could see where the extra costs were incurred and where the most significant amounts of revenue came from. She couldn’t understand why her father struggled with her system, as it was fairly straightforward and she had explained it to him repeatedly. Nevertheless, she went through it with him again, then called Rory to come in and reviewed it with him as well.

  By the time she and Peggy mounted their horses to return to Galbury Castle, it was close to supper time. She bid her father and brother a swift farewell before she and Peggy turned their horses to home.

  She had much to mull over as she rode and Peggy, apparently sensing her need for silence, for once said blessedly little.

  It seemed Kyla’s family was doing well enough in caring for the castle and themselves, but she wasn’t sure about the administration of the lands. Would Rory ever be ready to take over?

  Despite how much it chagrined her, Kyla’s heart began to beat a little faster when they arrived home and she saw Finlay enter the stables, likely to work with Hurley. Upon their entry, he looked up from the floor of the stall, his eyes catching Kyla’s. He didn’t break the stare but gazed at her intently, as if reminding her of the night before without speaking any words.