by Lara Temple
The ship pitched again and she stopped, turning to watch the surge of the wave as it closed on them. For one panicked moment Benneit thought she would let go of the railing and retreat, which would be the worst possible thing to do. But she held firm, silhouetted by the rise of spray, a grey-on-grey figure except for the flash of her flaxen hair about the elfin face raised to the elements. As the wave fell away she turned to them, but instead of the fear he expected he saw a mirror of the exultation he felt in every muscle of Jamie’s body. Her eyes were laughing and her lips parted. She looked nothing like Bella’s drab and silent cousin or the prim and proper Widow Langdale.
She managed the final yards to their more sheltered hideaway, lowering herself to sit on the deck beside the coil of rope. Her face was wet with spray, her eyelashes spearing drops of mist.
‘Do you like it, Jo?’ Jamie’s question was so loaded with yearning she laughed.
‘It is amazing. I thought the whole ship would turn over like a tortoise on its back!’
‘You should have stayed below,’ Benneit said above the roar of the wind.
‘I could not bear it any longer.’ Her hand tightened on the rope as the ship began to tip again, but her eyes were bright and laughing still. ‘It was like being inside a barrel rolling down a hill. I would rather have to run atop it than be bounced about inside.’
Jamie laughed as well and swiped the damp from his face. Benneit tucked his son’s arm back inside the cover of his cloak.
‘Here comes another, hold on.’
* * *
At some point in the hour that followed, as they were buffeted by waves coming around the sound, he began laughing with them. The sailors, hurrying about their business, gave them a wide berth. The sensible passengers were where they ought to be—cowering below decks. The weak-minded and the young and the foolish could do as they wished and be washed overboard if that was what God and Neptune willed.
The waves calmed as they approached Crinan, and Jamie snuggled deeper into the cavern of Benneit’s cloak, resting his cheek against his chest, his eyelids drooping. Benneit stroked the damp from his cheek and Jamie sighed. The clouds, too, lost their vigour, thinning and showing blue at their edges, and even the sun struck through occasionally, raising chestnut lights in Jamie’s dark hair. Benneit was so tempted to kiss his son’s head, but held back. What he did in private was different from what he showed in public. Instead he turned to Mrs Langdale.
‘Your clothes must be soaked through. You can ask Angus to bring your portmanteau so you can change before we proceed.’
It was a perfectly practical statement, but somehow it felt far too intimate. The thought of her plain grey dress soaked with sea water all the way to her skin, the spray she wiped from her pink cheeks mirrored elsewhere, soft and curved and moist... He shifted his leg and turned away, shocked by the surge of heat that struck through him at the image, the sensation of his hands joining hers in peeling back the damp fabric from her shivering skin. She made it worse by laughing, the same warm tumbling laugh like the fall of surf on the beach. He moved Jamie away slightly as if to remove him from the contamination of his thoughts.
‘It is mostly my cloak. I had no idea sailing could be so marvellous. When I return to England I would like to do so by sea if I may?’
‘If you wish.’
She struggled on to her knees and, as the ship gave a gentle roll on a swell, she pitched against his shoulder, her hand steadying herself by grasping his arm as she sank back down.
‘I’m so sorry. My leg buckled; it is all tingling.’
‘You sat too long in one position. Stretch it out,’ he advised, tightening his arms around Jamie.
She did as she was told, stretching out her legs, the damp hems of her skirts catching at her calves. She did not even notice as a sailor walking by slipped and skimmed into the railing at the sight, barely catching himself before hurrying on. Benneit looked away as well. Whatever those horrid grey gowns advertised, they were clearly not a good representation of at least part of this woman’s anatomy. Her ankles and calves were as fine and shapely as a Roman sculpture—slim, delicate lines that promised a mixture of fragility and strength. It was impossible not to wonder if the rest of her continued that promise.
‘Try to walk a little. That might help.’ It might help him at least.
She stood, thankfully leaning on the railing rather than on him. She gave a childlike little grunt, but proceeded towards the gangway to the cabins. He did not turn to watch her go, but from his line of sight he could see the sailors who had been working aft were watching her all too readily. He glared at them and they went back to their tasks.
Chapter Eight
‘Survived it fairly this time, didn’t we, lad?’
Benneit turned from the window overlooking the bay. It was a corner of comfort in the monstrosity that was Lochmore Castle—that view over the inlet and the steel and indigo sea beyond it, the fall of the cliffs towards the wide sandy shore that stretched until the rock fall crowned by the Devil’s Seat. In the afternoon there was a moment of stillness to the sight, between the winds of the morning and the excitement that always struck the water before nightfall. At this moment the elements rested, even the waves looked languid and half-hearted and he could see beyond them to the distance, to the point where his domain ended and the world began.
‘We did, Angus. I told you it would become easier as he grew older.’
‘’Tweren’t only that and you know it.’ Angus grunted as he threw back the cover of the trunk and began taking out linen.
Benneit ignored his comment and focused on Angus’s methodical actions. For such a large man his movements were graceful, but then a man who had dealt in gunpowder for many years during the war would have to be dexterous. Angus never spoke of it, but Benneit knew from another soldier from Lochmore land that the explosion that had marked Angus’s body was not his fault. Somehow, unlike so many others who returned from the war, Angus had kept his calm centre, but his very contentedness to remain at Lochmore and not stretch his horizons as he had when he joined the army was telling. Benneit never pried or pushed, but sometimes he wondered if he should.
Angus and he had always been fast friends despite the difference in their age and stations. There had been few boys his age near Lochmore and, until he was sent away to school in England, Angus had been his closest friend. And despite his parents’ concerns, every time they returned to Lochmore they picked up the threads of their friendship, disregarding time passed and social barriers.
‘You shouldn’t be doing that, Angus. That is Ewan’s duty.’
‘Clears my mind. Simple things.’
Benneit nodded and looked back out the window. Downstairs a stack of not-so-simple matters was awaiting in the estate room, alongside his long-suffering steward, McCreary.
‘You should go to The House in the morning before McDreary snares you in his net. Clear your mind,’ Angus continued behind him.
‘I might.’
‘She’ll keep an eye on Jamie.’
‘No doubt.’
‘You’ll be eating up here or downstairs?’
Benneit hesitated and Angus shut the trunk.
‘There won’t be nought to bother ye downstairs, Mrs Merry said, as Jamie asked Mrs Langdale to share his tea in the nursery. And Lady Morag won’t venture out until you’re settled and she accepts there’s a new face in the castle. If then. She’s getting on and her bitterness is firming her in the tower like a barnacle on its rock.’
‘I’m tired, Angus. I will eat in the study. Tomorrow I will sort out the details. Has Mrs Merry been civil to Mrs Langdale?’
Angus straightened with a grin.
‘Tried not to, then came under the great wide-eyed stare and crumbled like week-old kelp in summer. There’ll be a fire in her parlour, don’t you worry.’
Benneit nodded.
/> ‘Keep an eye on her.’
‘With pleasure, Your Grace.’
‘On Mrs Merry, Angus. Not Mrs Langdale.’
Angus’s grin widened and Benneit resisted the urge to curse. He had stepped right on to that cowpat with his eyes open.
‘She won’t be staying, Angus.’
‘Aye, I know. Best plough ahead on your plans to bring someone that will, then. Jamie’s growing.’
Benneit grunted and turned back to the view—already it had changed, the afternoon wind ruffling the sea’s surface and clouds gathering on the horizon like sheep around a trough.
* * *
He held out another hour before he headed down the corridor towards the nursery. There was nothing wrong with wanting to see if Jamie was settled after the journey. But it was wrong to have to make excuses to himself.
The nursery parlour was empty, the empty plates still on the table. He frowned and went to the bedroom. That, too, was empty.
‘In the schoolroom,’ Nurse Moody murmured behind him and he turned.
‘At this hour?’
She shrugged and shuffled out.
The first thing he noticed as he entered was her hair. It was not in her usual tidy bun, but in a queue held back by a single blue ribbon, falling down her back in a lush tangle. It was still damp from bathing, but beginning to dry into waves warmed by the firelight into the colour of sunny wheat. If not for the horrible grey dress he might not have recognised her.
Flops was lying with his paws splayed wide by the fire, looking more than ever like a skinned fur pelt set out to dry. He raised his cream and tan head with a panting grin and tapped the floor with his tail before subsiding again into a shapeless mop, clearly too exhausted from Jamie’s joyous homecoming to even come to Benneit for his usual ear-scratching.
Benneit remained in the shadowed doorway, watching them as their heads drew even closer over some object Jamie placed in her hand.
‘See? This is special,’ Jamie said and Jo nodded, her voice as hushed as his as she answered.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. It looks like it has been struck by lightning. Do you think that is what happened?’
Jamie took it back, inspecting the coloured stone with the slash of white through its centre.
‘The mermaids left it for me.’
‘You are very lucky then,’ she replied. ‘They never left anything for me.’
‘Do you live near the sea, too?’
‘No. But there is a pond. With frogs.’
Jamie giggled.
‘Mermaids don’t live in ponds.’
‘I imagine they don’t. They would be pondmaids, wouldn’t they? What is this?’ she raised a smooth disc of glass to catch the glint of firelight.
‘Papa said this is from Jules Keezers’s quizzing glass. Grandfather Uxmore has a quizzing glass and it makes his eye look like a beetle.’
‘I did not know Julius Caesar had a quizzing glass, but I like that it is blue. Do you think he had one in every colour? Perhaps when it was cloudy he used a yellow one to brighten up the world.’
‘And then he could put the yellow with the blue to make the world green. Papa showed me that. I could take it to the desert with me because Papa says there is no green there. Not much anyway.’
‘No, I dare say there isn’t. But there are oases, aren’t there?’
‘O-a-sees?’ Jamie enunciated.
‘Yes, springs of water in the middle of the desert. Imagine—you are riding on your camel’s hump for days and days, all thirsty and hot, and suddenly at the edge of the world you see green and then you come closer and there are trees and a spring of cool water. It must seem like magic, too.’
Jamie stared up at the ceiling, as if the world was opening up above them and the image descended from the heavens, then he turned and finally noticed Benneit standing in the doorway.
‘Papa! I am showing Jo my treasures.’
‘Not “Jo”, but Mrs Langdale, Jamie. We should observe the proprieties now we are at Lochmore.’
Benneit moved forward, nodding to Mrs Langdale as she shifted on to her knees unhurriedly and stood.
‘It is my fault, Your Grace. I forgot and asked him again to call me Jo.’
‘I see. Bedtime, Jamie. It has been a very, very long week.’
Mrs Langdale nodded, as if well aware the admonition was for her.
‘Goodnight, Jamie. Thank you for showing me your treasures.’
Jamie shrugged sulkily, but as she reached the door he spoke: ‘Tomorrow will you come see where I find them, J—Mrs Langdale?’
‘Of course, Jamie,’ she answered. ‘Goodnight. I will dream of deserts tonight, I think.’
* * *
Benneit stopped her by her room down the hall from the nursery.
‘A word, Mrs Langdale.’
She drew back her shoulders, but her face remained a complete blank, standing with her back to her door as if guarding dangerous prisoners inside, or protecting them.
‘I am grateful you accompanied us to Lochmore and I admit your presence made the trip a great deal more bearable for Jamie. But as you are not planning to remain here more than a few days I think it is best not to establish too great a degree of intimacy with my son. He does not attach easily, but for some reason he has decided to be more open with you than is his nature.’
His carefully measured oration began to flag under the absolute blankness in her eyes. Once again he had the sensation that somewhere far behind the still grey gaze she was dissecting him just as he had once seen the men of the Royal Academy dissect a dog’s cadaver—efficiently and utterly without mercy.
‘Am I clear?’ he persisted.
‘As clear as the Scottish wind, Your Grace, and just as brutal. Shall I confine myself to my room until my departure? Perhaps give him the cold shoulder when he addresses me? If that is what you expect from me, I suggest you make arrangement to send me back to England at first light tomorrow.’ She breathed in, visibly reining in the flow of words, then continued in a more conciliating tone. ‘I do not believe Jamie will be harmed by a show of interest on my part, even if it makes our parting more difficult. Your son is a lovely boy with a thirst for company and while I am here I intend to be as I am. If that is not what you wish of me, you have the power to send me on my way. You may inform me of your decision in the morning. Goodnight, Your Grace.’
He stared at the door that shut in his face. Whatever response he had expected from her, he had not anticipated such long-winded insolence. His foot twitched with a long-forgotten urge to give her door...his door...a savage kick. However, that might draw her back out and he was damned if he knew what to say to her after that tongue-lashing.
Chapter Nine
Jo could not remember the last time she had lost her temper anywhere but in the confines of her own mind.
Yes, she could, actually. After her mother told her they must leave their home to live with Lady Theale, she had thrown a fine tantrum, blaming her mother for everything—her father’s death and the loss of their home and freedom and pride. Her mother held her through the weeping that followed her outburst, but later that night Jo heard her crying and felt like a worm and apologised the next day. She had not openly lost her temper again since.
Until last night.
Her usual defences were failing her too often recently. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the trip, the daunting bleakness and imposing size of the castle as they approached it last night, huddled on the rainy promontory like a glum grey giant. Or perhaps it was that the Duke’s stern lecture brought back unpleasant memories of that dreadful Season six years ago when he had regarded her with the same critical exasperation as the rest of the Uxmores, making her feel irredeemably wrong-footed. During the trip north that sensation faded, at least until last night as she stood backed against her door, the light of t
he single candle in the sconce accentuating the harsh lines of his handsome face. He was too big, too sure of himself, too disapproving and far too oppressively male...
And the worst, the absolute worst, was that he turned her pleasure in Jamie’s company, the one bright spot in her confusion, into something objectionable. Part of her understood his concern, but another part—already tender and afraid of the future—wanted to curl into a ball and cry. That or lash out and do as much damage to him. So she had.
It was not the first time her tongue had slipped its leash in this impossible man’s presence, but this time she had truly gone too far. She was a beast to have spoken to him so and rebuked him, too, merely because he was worried about Jamie being hurt. Whatever she thought of the Duke of Lochmore, she did not doubt he loved his son deeply, or that Jamie utterly adored him.
Perhaps she was jealous. Of both of them.
She was a worm. And a sanctimonious one at that.
She stopped as she saw Angus exit a room to her right.
‘Angus, where is His Grace?’
‘Here in the estate room, Mrs Langdale. He and Mr McCreary are battling the dragons of debits and credits.’
‘Oh, dear. Do you think it would be a bad idea if I asked for a moment of his time?’
‘I think he would be happy for any excuse to escape, Mrs Langdale.’
She rather doubted that, but she nodded and when he opened the door and announced her, she stepped in with her chin up and her heart somewhere below her knees.
‘Your Grace, may I have a moment of your time?’
He glanced up from a ledger and stood, his face glacial, and her heart sank to ankle level. But at a glance from him his bespectacled steward left the room and she rushed into speech before the door even closed.
‘I wish to apologise for what I said last night. I had no right and I know you only spoke out of concern for Jamie. But I do not think I can be indifferent so perhaps it is best I leave now. I shan’t be returning to Uxmore so we needn’t even tell Lady Theale. By the time she discovers I am not here you will no doubt have wed, thus obviating the need for her to plot against you again.’