He reached out an arm and drew her closer. “If they did know, would they tell?”
She shook her head. “I only have a small staff here. In a few days, the day after Christmas, a horde will come up from the village to make the castle ready for Hogmanay. They would chatter, if they knew.”
“How many staff do you have?”
“Two housemaids, three footmen, cook and three kitchen maids,” she said. “I don’t need any more, since most of the house is under Holland covers.”
“Butlerless,” he said meditatively. “Do you not find the work arduous?”
She laughed. “Not at all. There’s little to do, normally.”
“Hmm.” He touched his lips to her forehead. “I find myself in need of a practical woman. You are the only woman I want there. The only one I have ever wanted there. Here.” He hugged her closer. When she draped her leg over his thigh, she barely noticed the lack of a lower leg. Just enough for a touch of sadness to graze her happiness. “Tell me about it.”
They were so close, she did not have to tell him what she meant. “Ah, yes. I last saw my left foot at Krefeld. Do you know the battle?”
She nodded. “I read all about the war.” Because he could have been there. Now, she knew for sure that he was there. “But that was over a year ago. In the summer. Why did I not know? Why did your brother not know?”
“Because I told my attendants not to tell him.” He stroked her cheek with one finger. “Sweetheart, I could have died. I made my will, I had a minister praying over me. I didn’t want them to know that I had died that way, in pain, so I ordered them to wait. I was the senior officer in that tent, and I made the most of it. As it turned out, the pain was worth it, because I lived. But that took some time. Two months, near enough. I had fever after fever, and the leg wouldn’t heal, not at first.”
“Oh, no. Oh, my love.”
He stilled, and she realized what she’d said. She’d called him her love. Well, he was, wasn’t he?
His smile was easy. “I survived. They moved me to a nearby castle as soon as they could. Prussia has almost as many castles as Scotland, you know. And I wanted to recover somewhat, to know how badly I was affected by the injury. I wrote to my brother then, but by then the year was heading towards Christmas. The letter did not reach him for nearly two months.”
“But I didn’t know.” She turned to him, tears in her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“What could you have done? Rushed to Prussia to care for me? No, I wanted to tell you myself in my own time. I didn’t want to come to you as a weak man still in pain, still learning to cope with the man I am now.”
She understood, but didn’t agree with him. Frederick had always been far too independently minded, to the point of foolishness. “I would have come. It was unfair to keep that to yourself.”
He watched her as she went up on one elbow, his gaze darkening into passion. “Well, it happened, and here I am. It’s done now. Over. Do you not want to know about your gift?”
She smiled at the memory of what they had just done. “I thought it was this.”
“That is a gift for me as well as you. One I will take good care to repeat, and you’re willing. But no.”
Reaching out, he grabbed a small wooden box from the nightstand. “This is my gift to you on the first day of my courtship.”
She glanced down at the box. Small, pretty, carved with a word she had to move closer to the candle to read. “Past,” it said.
With a quick look at him, she drew the brass hook through the eye and opened the box.
Inside was a bird. She took it out. A carved blackbird, its shape unmistakable.
“The first time we made love, a blackbird was singing,” he reminded her, although she needed no reminder.
Although the bird was not carved as finely as the ones downstairs in the gallery, it was infinitely more precious to her. He had made it. Frederick had always enjoyed whittling wood, and had gained considerable skill. He’d made her a giraffe once, when she refused to believe they existed, and said he’d carved it from life, from the menagerie at the Tower of London. She’d had to believe him then.
Carefully, she put the blackbird back in the box. “Thank you. It means more to me than anything you could have given me.”
“Then come and give me your thanks in the best way possible,” he said, taking the box from her. He put his other hand in hers, pulling her on top of him.
Chapter Two
Present
Used as she was to waking early, Rhona still slept half an hour after her usual time. Not surprising after a night spent making love to the only man that had ever mattered to her. Leaving Frederick sprawled on his stomach, the sheets and blankets in twisted disarray around him, she slipped out of his room and made her way to her own. Cook saw her come in, looked up and nodded. Rhona flushed to the roots of her hair, but managed to nod in return, and went inside to wash and dress.
Not being a lady of fashion, she was done in twenty minutes. Her dark green wool petticoat and brown caraco jacket was the plainest she owned. Severity was called for, a protective armor to prevent any slips. Despite the delicious lassitude occupying her veins, she appeared cool enough, or so she thought until Cook said, “If you pull your hair back any tighter, you’ll drag it out at the roots! I get a headache just looking at you. Go and make yourself more comfortable and I’ll finish the menu while you’re gone. I know fine what Lord Frederick likes best, and I’ll make sure he has salmon for his dinner.”
Rhona didn’t demur. It wouldn’t have done any good, anyway. Cook had known her most of her life, and she could read Rhona’s moods better than she could herself. She returned to her room, and loosened the tight knot she’d scrunched her hair into, making the style neater and looser. Then, instead of replacing the severe linen cap with no embellishment, she put on the one with a little bit of French lace, that she’d bought from a peddler at the market last September. It was pretty, although still enveloped most of her head, and had the lappets fashionable ladies eschewed these days. All the more reason for her to wear them. She wasn’t a lady, and she’d do well to remember that.
After receiving an approving smile from Cook, and a welcome dish of tea, Rhona approved the menu and went upstairs to supervise the housemaids. Not that they needed it, she discovered. The Holland covers were folded in a neat pile at the side of the drawing room. They’d chosen the smaller of the two reception rooms for Frederick, which Rhona approved of. “He’ll be more comfortable here.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said from the doorway behind her.
That was the second time today Rhona blushed. She turned, as much to hide her confusion from the maids as to greet him. She dropped her usual curtsey. “Good morning, my lord. I will tell Cook you’re ready for your meal.”
“Thank you.”
He let her pass, but watched her progress, warmth in his gaze.
Rhona was already aware she’d made a mistake going to him last night. Oh, she wanted him and he knew it. She’d be foolish to deny that. But she should have waited until his last night here. Whenever that was. On impulse, she turned and faced him. “Do you have any notion of how long you plan to stay in the castle, my lord? Are you going south for Hogmanay?”
He smiled, slow and sweet. “That depends. Partly on the weather, and a few other factors that are still in the air. Beyond my control.”
He meant her. With a demure, “Very well, my lord,” she left him to the housemaids.
Elsie had glimpsed her face. She resigned herself to the household knowing by nightfall. These people knew her as well as she knew them. Thinking she could fool them had been futile. But she would not give in. She would not behave any differently. She hadn’t even had her customary ten minutes upstairs in the small chamber. At least she could rectify that now.
Even that was denied her. No sooner had she entered the turret room and gone to her usual place by the window, she heard the door open behind her. She didn’t have to look around to
know who was standing behind her.
He slipped his arms around her waist and she leaned back to rest the back of her head against his shoulder. As easy as breathing, as natural as walking. Without thinking, damn it all. “I missed the way people speak around here,” he said.
“We speak English, mostly.”
“And Gaelic.”
“Not so much. For years, anyone using the Gaelic was immediately suspect. They’d be taken up and transported on the least excuse.”
He was silent for a moment, acknowledging the painful time all of Scotland had been through. Was still going through. “I’m Scottish, too. I understand that need. But I don’t have the beautiful lilt you have. It’s unlike any other part of the country. I always loved it best. Perhaps that’s because it reminds me of you.”
“Och, don’t say that.”
“Och!” The mocking tone was gentle. “Our mother made us speak English properly. It was important, she said, if we wanted the English to accept us.”
She covered one of his hands with hers. “You had a hard life to make.”
“Yes, we did. But we managed to restore what we’d lost, and then some more. In Rome, we nearly lost it. I never saw Adam so angry. And so in love.” The faint reflection of him in the window smiled. “He was tempted to say the hell with it, and take Delphi away, to Greece and all the places she wanted to visit. They still plan to, but they came home and Delphi got busy making a family for him.”
“Aye. A girl and twin boys. Since she’s a triplet, it’s not surprising one of them had twins.”
He smoothed his lips against her cap. She watched him do it, the ghostly reflection in the window bending to her, felt the light pressure and felt loved. “They can’t go abroad now.”
“You’d be surprised. They’re already planning it. But not for a year or two, not until the children are older. They’ll probably stay for the coronation next year. It wouldn’t do for the Duke of Kilsyth to miss that.”
“We have a new king,” she murmured, “but he isn’t the one who stayed in this room.”
“I noticed that you’ve opened it up. This used to be a secret room. Adam and I would hide here for hours when we were boys. Our sisters, too.”
Frederick was the only person of his generation to remain unmarried. But that would be rectified soon. At the thought of him marrying the general’s daughter, an ache filled her chest. She couldn’t breathe properly. When she leaned back against him, put her head back and sucked in a deep breath, he kissed her cheek. “Don’t think of anything but today, now. Today, we are together.”
“Does your brother want you to marry the general’s daughter?”
Frederick had a strong sense of family. If the duke told him to marry the general’s daughter, he would do it.
“No,” he said after a pause. “He told me to come and see you one last time. To let you know how I feel.” He kissed her again. “I didn’t need any prompting. My only concern was that I did not upset you. And I have, but with cause. The moment I felt you, I knew it was the same for you. Nothing has died. It only slept for a short time.”
“More than ten years,” she reminded him. “And now I’m a servant and I work for your brother.”
He shook his head. “You’re also the daughter of the minister down at the manse. You’re a clergyman’s daughter.”
She preferred not to think of the unhappy time when her beloved father fell ill with smallpox. Because of the danger of infection, she wasn’t allowed to see him before he died. But perhaps that was a mercy. Her memories of him were all happy ones. And of the curate who succeeded him. “Mr. McIver retired and went south. There’s another clergyman there now. A Sassenach.”
Frederick would understand the Gaelic word for “stranger”. “Where is he from?”
“Leith. He studied at Oxford.”
“I should speak to him.”
“You’ll see him when we go down the hill to church the day after tomorrow.”
A movement on the road attracted her attention. This time, the cloud of dust along the path was most definitely Mr. Ruthven riding his brown horse. She recognized his black coat and breeches, worn in deference to the season. Advent wouldn’t be over until tomorrow. As if sensing he was being watched, he looked up. He saw her, and probably Frederick, too, though four stories up, they might not be recognizable. “There he is. I thought he’d come yesterday but it was you on the road.”
“Speak of the devil,” Frederick said, and stepped back.
“That’s not fair.” She went to the door, turned back and found him watching her. Ducking her head, she lifted the latch and went downstairs. “He’ll have heard you arrived and he’ll be wanting to introduce himself.”
Frederick said nothing, but she heard him behind her.
Rhona didn’t stop at the drawing room, but motioned to him to go inside. “I’ll find you some tea.”
“Will you bring it yourself?”
Sighing, she nodded. They had until Christmas Day. After that, the workers from the village would move in and they would have no privacy. Then he would leave, and she’d never see him again.
She found Mr. Ruthven in the kitchen, speaking to Cook. “You must come to Eucharist on Christmas morning, Mrs. McHeath. His lordship will want you to, if he’s a Christian man.”
“Indeed, he will,” Rhona said briskly, walking into the large, stone room. The kitchen was always warm, a blessing at this time of year. Cook stood at the table which dominated the center of the room, rolling pin in hand. “Well, my faither always held that God was everywhere, and the kirk wasn’t the be all and end all.”
“But it’s where you’ll find him all the time.”
Mr. Ruthven turned to face her. A slender man, with a sharp-featured face only made more severe by the unrelieved black he wore, he moved around this house as if he owned it. Rhona would wager he had not rung the bell and waited for the footman to admit him. “Ah, good day, Mistress MacKay! Well met!”
“I’ll take you up to his lordship directly,” she said, and turned to address Cook. “He wants tea served upstairs. Since the maids are busy opening the rooms, I’ll take it up to him.”
“Aye.” Cook could say more with that one word than anyone else Rhona had ever met. Her disapproval of Mr. Ruthven came through clearly.
Cook had a tray with tea, dishes, and a plate of delicate morsels ready in no time. Then she added a plate of oatcakes. “He always liked them.” The plain, flat biscuits looked odd on a delicate porcelain plate. “He can keep them,” Rhona said. She had no love for them. The poor ate them when they couldn’t afford anything else, used them to bulk out their food when they couldn’t get flour to make bread. Why Frederick enjoyed them beat her understanding, but he did.
Mr. Ruthven accompanied her upstairs. He offered to carry the tray, but she turned him down. She couldn’t stop Frederick rushing to take the tray from her when Mr. Ruthven opened the door.
Frederick invited her to join them, but she smilingly refused and left them to it.
Mr. Ruthven only stayed for the regulation half-hour. When he came back down to the kitchen, his face was grave. “A word, if you please,” he said to Rhona.
She had no choice but to show him into her parlor, but at least she didn’t have to go through the ritual of offering tea. He’d already had some. He sat in the chair by the fire when she motioned to it, and took the one opposite, her comfortable wooden chair that she had softened with a plethora of cushions. But she did not feel comfortable now.
“Mistress MacKay—Rhona.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. “You know how his lordship feels towards you?”
Ah. She nodded, caution filling her mind. How much had Frederick told the minister? And what part of it? “He has never made a secret of it.”
Mr. Ruthven’s thin mouth went even thinner. “He sees you as a person, not a servant. That, my dear, is dangerous. I cannot help but feel responsible for you.” He paused. “
And you know that I, too, have feelings for you.” He went on in a rush, as if not wanting to hear her reply until he was done. “I was planning to wait until Advent was over, but I must speak now.” He got to his feet and paced to the door, then back. Four strides in all. Not particularly helpful for a man with long legs. He stood before her chair, then went down in a swoop of black wings, on one knee before her. “Rhona, you are the most sensible, intelligent woman I have ever met. Together, we could go forward, and with you by my side, I feel sure I can reach the rank of bishop. I could offer you a useful, interesting life. But not if you are—forgive me—soiled goods.”
Well, that was an interesting way of putting it. “In what way, soiled?”
He frowned. “To be frank, known as a mistress to another man.”
“Is that what he said?”
He shook his head, got to his feet again. “No, not precisely. But I inferred that his interest in you is more carnal than I would like. And if it became known that you had succumbed, you would, I’m afraid, be a fallen woman. My flock would not appreciate that.” His English was as precise as Frederick’s. The result of his time at Oxford, probably. “You know the Scots. They are quick to condemn. The point is, the man cannot hide his desire for you. If you remain here, in this place, rumors will circulate.” He turned to face her. “In fact, they already are. As soon as the villagers knew he had returned, gossip began. My own housekeeper told me that she expected you and Lord Glinn would return to your old ways.”
When she opened her mouth to reply, unsure of what she would say, he held up a hand. “No, please, hear me out. Come with me now, to the manse. I will move out for the duration of the banns, and we may be married next month. Your reputation will be safe.”
“How do you feel about me?” she asked as soon as she could get a word in. She sensed he was about to go into a torrent of explanations and reasons, all without consulting her, and by the time he was done, she would be committed, whether she agreed to it or not.
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 73