by Lara Temple
She followed their gaze to the stable yards, where it looked like the whole of the castle and quite a few of the temporary staff taken on ahead of the ball were gathered around two men dressed in nothing but buckskins and boots. The two moved about the open circle created by the wall of servants. It might as well have been a dance, elegant and light, but she could feel the force of it even at this distance. The late afternoon sun gleamed orange and red off their bare chests and arms, dancing and gliding along their perspiration-slicked shoulders.
The only man she had ever seen without his shirt had been Alfred. He possessed good arms but he had been boyishly slim and his chest as bare as a boy’s. Benneit and Angus were built on a larger, rougher scale, but though Angus was yet larger, it was Benneit who caught and held her gaze.
He is beautiful. Utterly, utterly beautiful, her heart and body agreed, throwing a sack over her mind and shoving it into a closet as it tried to remind them of his flaws.
His body was long and elegant, with broad shoulders and a shading of dark hair across his chest tapering downwards, making her fingers twitch with the need to test that silky arrow. His muscles were as defined as a museum statue, though they looked much warmer—sun-kissed and slick with sweat that would glide under her hands...
Her palms were hot and tingling with the imagined sensation—her fingers curving over the bulge of his bicep and into the cool hollow at his elbow before finding the hair-roughened, sinewy strength of his forearm.
She could see the rise and fall of his chest, the trickle of sweat on his cheek and neck. Every line was enhanced by the tension in his body as he moved slowly around the circle, half-facing Angus who was doing the same. She could have sworn she caught his scent from here, closed window or not—cool and musky, the sea and the male animal prowling. She was hot with it and it was hard to breathe. She leaned her hand on the cool stone by the window and when Jamie spoke, she was shocked to realise she had forgotten his presence.
‘They’re looking for openings,’ Jamie explained. ‘Papa’s lighter on his feet and faster, but Angus can pick up an oak with his bare hands and break a bone between his fingers.’
Jo’s stomach clenched, her fear beating back the treacherous heat a little. She was still angry and hurt, but however much she had wanted to throw something at Lochmore, she really, really didn’t want anyone hurting him.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Jo exclaimed in shock as Angus swung what looked like an enormous arm, but the Duke shifted aside, coming up hard against Angus who bent over and stumbled sideways. There was a muted mix of roars and groans and Jamie clapped his hands.
‘Right in the pudding box! Gave him a leveller!’
‘Jamie! Why on earth are they fighting?’
Jamie snorted in disgust.
‘It’s not fighting, it’s sparring. One day Papa will teach me, too. No one in all the Highlands can take him down, not even Angus and he’s as strong as a boulder. One day I’ll be just as strong and just as fast. Ah, flute...’
‘What now?’
‘It’s over,’ Jamie said in disappointment.
Jo didn’t answer, just pressed a hand to her racing heart and watched the two men as they clapped each other on the back and Angus gave a not-so-light pummel on Benneit’s shoulder. Benneit was smiling, no, grinning, his face warm with life. This was neither the Duke nor Bella’s suitor. She did not even notice as Jamie hurried out, but stood there watching until the two men disappeared from view. She peeled her perspiring hand away from her racing pulse and pressed it to the cool windowpane, but that only made her feel hotter, her lovely dress suddenly an ungainly sack about her, weighing her down. The thought of being bare, of feeling a warm, large hand settle on her shoulder, of being able to touch...
Something scraped at her shoe and she gave a little yelp, but it was only Flops. He gave a small answering yelp and buffed her foot with his paw. She had rarely seen his eyes and had not once heard him bark, but as his looked up at her, his angora-soft fringe falling back from his eyes, she could see they were black and very mournful, as if he knew something was very wrong with her. She breathed in and out until the strange sensations abated and then bent to stroke him until he tired of her and went in search of Jamie.
Chapter Twenty
‘Your Grace.’ Jo’s voice was a little too sharp as she called out and she clenched her jaw, trying to calm her jumping nerves. Benneit stopped, his hand on the knob of the study door, eyeing her warily.
His hair was wet and dishevelled. He had evidently bathed after the fisticuffs and, though he looked weary, there was a lingering lightness in his movements and his eyes were more green than grey. It reminded her of their colour when he had picked her up on the beach the other day, the strength of his hands on her waist, how close they were for that moment before he put her down. His eyes had been as deeply green, then—jade with shards of emerald, the grey beaten back into a rocky rim. She could recall the heat of his body inches from hers, the itch of anticipation that something...
‘Yes, Mrs Langdale?’ he prompted and she looked down, focusing on her words.
‘I wished to apologise. I was ungrateful and ungracious.’
He crossed his arms and winced.
‘I owe you an apology, too, Mrs Langdale. Angus was right; I should have consulted with you. In my defence, I presumed you would continue to reject my offer of new clothes.’
‘You presumed correctly.’
‘Well, then I’m afraid I don’t truly regret my high-handedness. If you still wish to throw something, please do so at my right side, Angus has already tenderised the left.’
‘I saw. Jamie watched from the nursery.’
Colour spread over his lean cheeks and he swiped a hand over his face, as if testing the closeness of his shave. He looked so human when he blushed, she relaxed a little, then a little further at his grumbled reply.
‘You’ll probably say I should be more careful he doesn’t witness such things.’
‘No. He was so very proud. That cannot be bad.’
He stood back and motioned towards the study and she entered, far too grateful for this little show of reconciliation. Inside, she moved towards the window, too unsettled to remain close to him, her heart both racing ahead and stumbling like a drunkard down a hill. Before she could think the words rushed out of her.
‘Tomorrow is the ball. Will you be making the announcement? If so, you should prepare Jamie. He should hear it from you.’
He remained by the door.
‘The announcement?’
‘Your engagement.’
He walked to the desk.
‘The only announcement is that we are breaking ground with the distillery. As for...the other, we have reached no formal agreement yet so there is nothing to tell Jamie. However, the plans for the distillery will give people more than enough to talk about.’
Her relief was so extreme and so foolish she held herself still in her cage until her heart settled. It meant nothing. In another week or two she would return to England and melt from the Lochmore consciousness like the dew in Jamie’s deserts.
‘He knows, though. Not merely from your aunt’s comments. He hears the talk—here and in the village. He is a child, but he is surprisingly wise for his age. He even told me he knows it is because of him.’
‘He told you that?’
‘He said you wished to give him a family.’
‘Was that all he said?’
She hesitated.
‘I did not pry, you know. He talks when we are on the beach. Whatever comes to his mind. I merely listen.’
‘I am not accusing you of prying, I merely wish to know... He does not often speak to me of such matters. He did after that horrific dinner with Aunt Morag, but since then, every time I tried to broach the subject he shies away.’
She heard the ring of steel in his voice. It was not rese
ntment this time, but a slash of pain.
‘Sometimes I think he sees me a little as he does his mermaids or Flops—he can speak freely because he cares less. You are the most important thing in his world and it is never easy to speak of truly fateful matters to someone in that position. He said he knows you wish him to have a brother and a sister so he can play with them and show them things. He said he hopes they will like maps and exploring, but that they must find themselves another dog because Flops is his.’
His mouth curved, but he still did not look at her.
‘Thank you for telling me. Where is Jamie now?’
‘Upstairs with Nurse Moody. They are preparing Flops for the ball tomorrow. He has not yet accepted they will not be attending.’
‘Poor Flops. That does not bode well for Jamie’s temper when the truth sinks in that he will not be at the centre of the festivities. Tomorrow is likely to be challenging in more ways than one, Mrs Langdale. Are you prepared for the worst?’
‘I am, Your Grace. Is Mr McCreary about? We are setting a fine pace with the accounts and I am hopeful we might soon complete the review.’
‘He has gone to the village on some business of mine and I am about to go as well so you are welcome to the study.’ He went to pull out his chair and after a moment she went to sit down, pulling the ledger towards her.
He did not immediately leave, and she looked up, her heartbeat heading downhill again for no accountable reason. He smiled, but it was not the easy smile of a moment ago.
‘You look much better than McCreary does at my desk.’
‘It is the dress, Your Grace. Perhaps you should review McCreary’s wardrobe as well.’
He laughed and shook his head, his drying hair brushing the collar of his coat. It had grown since she had seen him in London. Time was passing, and each moment was becoming precious. If she was a brave woman she would stand and...and do something.
Instead she pulled the ledger to her and bent over it and stared blindly at the numbers. It felt like an eternity before the door closed finally behind him. Then she set to work.
Chapter Twenty-One
Everything was ready for the ball.
The hall gleamed, the sconces were all equipped with candles, the passage to the Great Hall, usually bare, was laid with deep blue carpets and the Minstrels’ Gallery at the end of the hall readied for the orchestra arriving from Kilmarchie. Mrs Merry was at her imperious best, her voice ringing up and down corridors as she held sway over the horde of servants hired for the occasion.
The Duke had every reason to be content with the state of his household. Except for one small issue.
Or rather one small boy and a rather serious issue.
‘Where the devil is he?’ Benneit’s growl sent two temporary footmen into retreat down the hallway. ‘Have you found him, Jo? Angus?’
Angus wiped his brow with a handkerchief the size of a tent and Jo shook her head.
‘Nurse Moody said his best shoes and his tartan coat are missing. Clearly he still plans to attend the ball, despite your interdiction,’ Jo offered and tried not to flush as Benneit’s glare turned on her. Angus jumped into the breach.
‘I searched the towers and those servants we can spare are looking outside, lad. Other than having Mad Morag throw an ewer at me and tell me not to come back unless I’m bringing a bottle, I found nothing.’
‘Blast the boy,’ Benneit cursed, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘As if we have nothing better to do today than search high and low for him.’
‘Perhaps...’ Jo stopped short. Suggesting the Duke should have allowed Jamie to attend the opening of the ball after all was not likely to be a productive contribution at this point. Instead she searched for something practical to do. ‘Perhaps we should check the cellars.’
Lochmore rounded on her.
‘How many times must I repeat myself? No one enters the cellars and certainly not Jamie. He might be spoilt, but he’s no fool. He’s run off outside the castle walls. And why the devil are you still wearing that grey dress?’
‘I will go and search the copse.’ Jo turned away, resisting the urge to tell Benneit what she thought of him and his manners. Angus trudged alongside her.
‘I’ll go to the rock fall. You mustn’t mind Lochmore in this mood, lass. He’s worried,’ Angus added unnecessarily.
‘I know, Angus.’
‘He didn’t mean that about the dress.’
She laughed a little bitterly.
‘Yes, he did. But he was in a foul mood even before he noticed my dress and before Jamie’s tantrum and disappearance.’
‘The present keeps moving closer to the future and he knows he can’t avoid it.’ He sighed, adding, ‘He was always a stubborn boy, a heart of gold, but stubborn.’
‘Jamie is definitely that.’
‘I meant Benneit.’ Angus smiled. ‘Good luck, Mrs Langdale.’
Once she ascertained Jamie wasn’t in the copse Jo followed the path towards the north bay, but without any real expectation of finding Jamie there. So even when she saw the flash of orange from Jamie’s plaid coat laying casually on the stone near the cliff gate, her mind still rejected the possibility Jamie had gone down to the bay itself. She picked up the coat and promptly dropped it.
On the highest point of the rise of boulders past the first line of the rocks, sunlight gleamed off a black oval. She’d seen it only this morning when Jamie had produced his dress shoes so proudly, convinced he could yet manoeuvre his father into allowing him to attend the ball.
The waves were already licking at the base of the rocks and she moved forward without thinking. She could not see beyond the boulder, but he might be there, sulking, oblivious to the fast-rising water. Only two days ago they had walked past here with Angus on the cliff path and not two hours later none of those rocks had been visible beneath smashing, frothing waves.
‘Jamie!’ she yelled again and again, but the wind and the waves made a mockery of her cries. As she watched, a wave smashed against the rocks, sending a white spray into the air. The shoe slipped sideways several inches.
She picked up her heavy skirts and ran the rest of the way down the cliff path.
* * *
Benneit stopped on the top of the cliff path, picking up his son’s discarded tartan coat and folding it with a frustrated curse which faded as his gaze caught on a movement below.
Perhaps it was the way she let her shawl flutter away, like a bird set free from captivity. Or perhaps it was the madness of her next move.
His heart lurched in shock and denial as he watched her move into the waves.
‘Jo!’
Even as her name burst from him in a mix of outrage and terror he knew it was pointless. She would hear nothing but the beat and hiss of the surf. Already it was about her thighs, catching and tugging at the grey fabric, the waves snatching higher and higher, pushing her back even as she forced her way through them towards the underwater ledge marked by froth swirling like boiled milk.
He ran. Vaulting over boulders and cutting the last section of the path in half by leaping a good eight feet down to the sand. He stumbled but shoved to his feet again and continued towards the water, stopping only to discard his coat and rip his boots off—from long experience he knew the waves were best faced unencumbered. He didn’t bother yelling. Anyone mad enough, or desperate enough, or lost enough to head into those waves willingly would not turn simply for a command.
His teeth clenched as the water rose around him—snapping cold and vicious. He could see her struggling, turning her face from the waves that reared at her like stampeding horses even as she plunged on, heading for the boulders that still jutted dark grey out of the rising sea. If by some strange strain of madness she thought that way safety lay, she was about to discover how wrong she was. If she meant to end her life, she was within moments of achieving that aim.
He stopped thinking, shoving his way through the icy water, tearing free of the grasping tentacles of kelp that lashed and tangled about his legs. She was almost to the boulder when he saw the seventh wave. It was always the largest, though not always the most dangerous if you knew how to ride it. But coming at her it would smash her against the boulders and crack her like an otter cracks a mussel.
He lunged, reaching for whatever he could grab. His hand closed on the cold fabric of her dress and he heard her cry out even as he dragged her under. She struggled, but he dug his hand into the fabric and held her down as the wave sucked at them, almost crushing them on to the stones beneath. As soon as he felt the weight of the water roll over them he shoved to the surface, pushing towards the shore without letting go his hold on her. She kicked and tried to twist out of his grasp, but he kept going as if she was nothing but a net full of fish.
The water was rising fast and soon he would lose his purchase on the rocky bottom. The waves kept coming, picking up weight. Soon the big wave would hit again, he could feel the backward surge as it gathered itself, coming at them. This time he pulled her to him, wrapping her against his body as he plunged. He felt her hands fist on his shirt, her head pressed to his chest as she curled into a ball as they went down. Even in the chaos and fixed determination of the moment he admired how quickly she had grasped the object of these plunges. In fact, all fight seemed to have gone out of her. She stayed below the water until he rose. They were just steps away from the ledge that marked the safe point.
‘Almost there,’ he yelled above the surf and though she shook her head and did not look at him she moved with him. The backward tug when it came surprised them both. Her eyes shot towards him as she rocked under the beat of a wave. He tugged at her arm impatiently. In a few moments the water would rise and even the ledge would offer no salvation. They had moments at best.