Unlaced by the Highland Duke

by Lara Temple

  He didn’t know what she heard in his voice, but her laughter faded. For a moment everything faded but the deep grey of her eyes, the soft sweep of her lips, halfway between a smile and bemusement. Then an ache, deep inside but as sharp and stinging as a blow from Angus’s fist, spread through him.

  He took her arm.

  ‘They are striking up a waltz. Come dance with me.’

  ‘Oughtn’t you rather—?’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted her, moving her firmly towards the dance floor. He did not want to think in shoulds and oughts. He wanted this. Her. Now. It would be over soon enough.

  * * *

  Jo felt the guests staring as he drew her on to the dance floor and her gaze settled on his shoes and her slippers as they moved to the lovely music. She did not recognise it—it was light and dreamlike, as if the composer had crawled inside her head and heard a long-lost dream of hers. And the more recent dreams of Benneit, smiling at her...touching her... She had seen him dance often enough six years ago—tall and handsome and perfectly matched with Bella. It made little sense that he was dancing with her now, his hand warm on hers through her glove, his fingers shifting slightly on her waist as he guided her.

  ‘Are you counting your steps? You don’t need to, you dance beautifully.’ There was a smile in his voice, but also something else she could not read. Was she embarrassing him?

  ‘I’m sorry. I was listening to the music. It is so lovely. There is something so...wistful about waltzes. Sometimes I think they should be danced with eyes closed.’

  ‘If everyone did that it might wreak havoc on the dance floor.’

  ‘That is a very practical consideration, but not at all relevant to daydreams.’

  ‘Ah, this is daydreaming Jo. What tale would unfold behind your lowered lids?’

  She shook her head, embarrassed to have even said as much, but he continued.

  ‘You could do that now—close your eyes and dream away.’ His voice sank and there was heat in it, but also a raw edge that brought with it the memory of that brief, wild embrace on the cliff path; the aftermath of fear and fury and the grasping at life.

  She didn’t tell him that this time she did not want to close her eyes. That there was no daydream that could outdo this moment. It was a dream come real, but with the bitter twist of all such dreams—it was still out of reach and all the more vicious for that chasm.

  She did not want the moment ruined by bitterness so she kept her smile and forced herself to look up.

  It was a mistake. She had been warm before, but the look she saw in his eyes seared her skin. Until this moment she was convinced the kiss on the cliff path was mostly the outcome of anger and frustration. But in this civilised setting she could not mistake the stark desire in his eyes; it reached out and grabbed her like a dog sinking its fangs into a rabbit. Then his thick black lashes lowered and he smiled as well, but it was not an easy smile.

  ‘You can dream of Alfred seeing you as you are now,’ he said, his hand tightening on hers and his other sliding lower on her back. She stumbled against him, her leg brushing against his, and another bolt of lightning ripped through her, as if they were two pieces of flint, incapable of contact without the threat of fire. Her ears were ringing with it, her breasts heavy and almost foreign in a bodice now too tight.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jo, I should not have said that. I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  He sounded angry with himself and she forced a smile.

  ‘It did not hurt. I don’t wish to dream of him. I am happy as I am right now.’

  His hands softened on hers, his thumb shifting to brush the heart of her palm, but if he meant to soothe her, it had the opposite effect. Even that tiny caress poured heat through her, making her arm shiver. How could he not know what he was doing to her? What every word and touch were wreaking? She was accustomed to thinking that her thoughts and emotions and very existence were invisible to the world, but surely some of this storm inside her must be visible?

  ‘I am glad.’

  He didn’t sound glad, he sounded as raw as she and she made herself look up again, even at the risk that he might see what she was feeling. She was greedy, she wanted to capture this image in her mind—his hand holding hers, his body so close to hers she felt his heat engulf her like the waves had, and just as dangerous to her well-being. But mostly she wanted to fix in her mind the stark lines of his face and the green storm within his eyes. They were narrowed and shaded, but she could see the fierce heat was still there. Unwanted but there and she felt a primitive shiver of victory.

  ‘Jo.’ His voice was so low she felt rather than heard the word, as it reached her through his hands on her and the air around them. She could hardly feel her feet on the floor. Had no idea if she was dancing or suspended in his arms like a rag doll. All she could do was feel him, that she was already part of him.

  Then the music slowed and the world returned—noisy, colourful, buzzing with words and laughter and the scuffing of shoes on the floor. It sounded strange, unrelated to her. When his hands left her she made her way towards where Ewan stood overseeing his small army of footmen. She had to be useful. Useful was where she was safe.

  But she had not quite reached Ewan when a tentative voice behind her stopped her short.

  ‘Mrs Langdale?’

  Jo turned and smiled reflexively at the woman who was to become Benneit’s wife.

  ‘Lady Theresa.’

  ‘Could I beg you for a moment’s help? My ribbon has become hopelessly tangled and every time I try to loosen it, it draws tighter. I don’t want to bother Mama or my sisters because they will preach I have been carelessly clumsy once again.’

  ‘Of course.’

  She led the younger woman to a small room by the withdrawing rooms which Mrs Merry had prepared for just such eventualities. A sewing kit was open on the table besides a tray of refreshment and three lovely fans that might once have been the Duchess’s. Lady Tessa picked up one of the fans and unfurled it absently in a shimmer of sky-blue silk.

  ‘I was hoping to see Jamie. But he will be coming with Lochmore when they visit us. You will come, too, won’t you, Mrs Langdale?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, Lady Theresa.’

  ‘Oh, do come and please call me Tessa. Theresa sounds so prim and I always hated that name. I was named after my aunt and she is frightful, but thankfully she lives in Aberdeen. Are you enjoying staying at the castle? It is much larger than ours and I always found it a little...intimidating.’

  The ribbon, a lovely pink silk threaded around the high waist, had tangled into a knot under Lady Tessa’s arm and Jo removed her gloves to work it free. This was a servant’s task, but for some reason she did not find the young woman’s request insulting. This was not one of Celia’s commands as requests, but a transparent manoeuvre to have a tête-à-tête and Jo wondered why. Surely this lovely girl, with her voluptuous figure and hair the colour of a sunset, would have no reason to be concerned about the presence of a widow well past her first blush, with no countenance or fortune?

  When the ribbon was freed Lady Tessa sank on to one of the chairs with a sigh and adjusted a thick curl of hair. Its colour was not quite as red as Angus’s, something between amber and auburn, and though it should clash, Jo had to admit she would look marvellous dressed in the Lochmore colours. Far better than Jo herself.

  ‘Thank you, that is much better.’ Lady Tessa smiled. ‘Did you know my maid is Beth’s cousin by marriage? She said Jamie dotes on you. Will you be staying at Lochmore or must you return to England?’

  Jo hesitated as she would before walking across a chasm balanced on a plank. Perhaps she was wrong about this woman’s guilelessness. Perhaps she had seen the truth on Jo’s face during the dance.

  ‘I agreed to remain here a month, that is all, Lady The—Tessa.’

  ‘I see.’

  Tessa’s shou
lders slumped and her tone was so despondent Jo was surprised into honesty.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘You must know what is being said, about the alliance, and I was rather hoping there might be someone here who might be a friend.’

  ‘If you are to wed, I would imagine your husband would be that friend,’ Jo answered, her heart thumping like a great drum, and Tessa’s smile was wry.

  ‘It is not that kind of alliance. Lochmore is a good man, but... Was your husband your friend?’

  ‘Yes. But I know that is rare. Still, your family is not so very far and you will make new friends perhaps, and then there is Jamie and eventually...’ Her resolve to be cool and calm sank under the weight of her horror at the picture she was painting. She did not hate this woman, but she would happily see her erased from the face of the earth. She stood.

  ‘We should return, Lady Tessa.’

  The younger woman sighed and stood as well.

  ‘Yes. Sometimes I wonder how it is that women have not yet overturned the world. There is something dreadfully wrong with it.’

  Jo’s pain melted a little.

  ‘That is very true. Perhaps one day they shall. Perhaps one day your daughter will.’

  Tessa smiled.

  ‘Or yours.’

  Jo shook her head but didn’t answer.

  Just before they regained the Great Hall a hand closed tightly on her elbow and she turned in surprise to face Morag.

  ‘Shoo, girl.’ Morag waved a hand at Tessa. To give Tessa credit, she sought Jo’s confirmation at her dismissal, but Jo smiled reassuringly and Tessa continued, glancing back once over her shoulder before entering the Great Hall.

  ‘Secrets between the Is and the Will Be?’

  Jo tried to focus on the slurred voice and the bloodshot eyes and not on the venom.

  ‘Shall I ask Mrs Merry to help you to your rooms, Lady Morag?’

  ‘I know my way. This is my home, whatever the two of you are conniving. Setting up to share my nephew? I saw the way the two of you danced. Dancing! There’s another name for that! Well, don’t think you three can conspire to send me away from my tower!’

  ‘He will never send you away, Lady Morag. Trust me, it is not something he would do. Why test him, though?’

  The filmy brown eyes cleared for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know if I want her here.’

  ‘Whether you wish it or not, his honour is pledged.’

  ‘Aye. Whether you want it or not. I don’t like seeing Aberwyld in these walls.’

  For a moment there was nothing but sincerity in Morag’s rough voice and Jo recognised a kindred pain.

  ‘I am not particularly fond of Lady Aberwyld either,’ she said, thinking back to the dour woman she had encountered that evening.

  Lady Morag dropped her arm and stood back, a mixture of viciousness and pain in her lined face. ‘Clever little miss, aren’t you? It won’t save you, though.’

  ‘I know that, Lady Morag.’

  ‘I don’t want her here. My father wanted McCrieff to marry me, did you know that? To bring peace between the families. But then she sank her claws into him and he forgets all about me. Fat lot of good it did him.’

  The pain was so vivid Jo felt horrified with it—would she, too, be so torn decades later? Tangled in these feelings for Benneit? Before she could even think of a response, Mrs Merry appeared in the corridor, her surprise turning to a frown.

  ‘I’ll see you to your room, Lady Morag, and Beth will bring up a nice toddy. Mrs Langdale, Angus would like a word with you. He’s by the great staircase.’

  Jo nodded with relief as Mrs Merry led Morag away, then went to find Angus. His face was calm as always, but immediately she tensed.

  ‘Angus, what has happened?’

  ‘Now, dinna worrit, Mrs Jo, but Jamie’s ill and is calling for ’ee. Looks like to cast up his accounts.’

  She nodded and picked up her skirts, heading up the stairs, her heartbeat swift. Angus’s broadening brogue was a clear sign he was more concerned than his words indicated.

  ‘Where does the closest doctor or surgeon reside, Angus?’

  Angus grimaced, his scars twisting even further as he strode up the stairs beside her.

  ‘Doctor Harris is gone to Edinburgh this week so there’s only Dr Mitchell and he’ll be deep in whisky this hour. We don’t send for him after the sun sets unless we send for a priest, too. I don’t want to worry Benneit...His Grace...unless we must. Tonight of all nights.’

  ‘Well, we shall see first what is ailing Jamie and then decide.’

  * * *

  Nurse Moody was in the room when Jo entered, bending over Jamie’s bed. Jamie himself was curled up into a ball at the corner of the bed and she saw immediately this was not merely one of his nightmares. His face was chalky and his forehead glistened with sweat, his eyes tightly shut.

  ‘I want Jo!’ he moaned and she hurried forward.

  ‘I’m here, Jamie.’

  ‘My pudding box hurts! Worse than in the carriage...’

  She sat down beside the little ball and touched his forehead. He was cool and one worry erased itself.

  ‘Was he asleep?’ she asked Nurse Moody and the older woman shook her head worriedly.

  ‘I don’t rightly know, Mrs Langdale. I heard him moaning and I came.’

  Jo ran her hand down his clammy cheek and her fingers snagged on a red substance at the corner of his mouth. For one horrible moment she feared it was blood, but without thinking she raised her fingers and sniffed at them. Before she could comment a harsh shudder ran through Jamie.

  ‘Angus, the basin, now!’ she called and to his credit Angus grabbed the basin quickly enough and she had it under poor Jamie’s head as his body heaved. For several moments the only sounds were his dreadful retching and choked sobs, mixed with her murmurs as she tried to calm the little boy. When the retching settled into shudders, she handed the basin to Angus who took it with all the fastidiousness of a London dandy and hurried out. Nurse Moody handed her a dampened towel and she bathed Jamie’s face as he lay exhausted and shuddering.

  ‘Jamie! What is wrong?’ Benneit burst into the room and Jamie gave a little wail and burrowed into his pillow.

  ‘Hush, Benneit,’ Jo admonished.

  ‘Don’t hush me, what is wrong?’

  He sank on to the other side of the bed, turning Jamie towards him, his face as pale as his son’s, though less grey. Jamie moaned and a tear squeezed out of the corner of his tightly shut eyes.

  ‘’m sorry...’

  Benneit turned to her, his face pale and fierce.

  ‘What happened? Tell me!’

  ‘Too many tarts,’ she replied, bathing Jamie’s forehead and cheeks. ‘You needn’t worry, Jamie. No one is angry with you.’

  ‘Tarts?’

  ‘I believe Jamie didn’t want to wait until his punishment was lifted to sample Mrs Merry’s jam tarts. To be fair, they are delicious... Sorry, Jamie, I should not have said that,’ she amended as the little body heaved. Benneit cupped his son’s face in his hands, his profile tense and hard, and Jamie began crying weakly.

  ‘I feel awful, Papa.’

  ‘Hush, Jamie, don’t worry,’ he murmured, stroking the damp curls back from the boy’s brow. ‘It will pass.’

  Jamie shook his head, crying harder. Jo thought of leaving them, but did not move. As if sensing her hesitation Jamie’s hand crawled from under his blanket and tucked itself under hers. Benneit directed her a hard, angry look, as if either his son’s illness or this gesture were transgressions on her part, which perhaps they were.

  He is merely scared and a little jealous, she assured herself. But it hurt more than it ought, especially after his chivalry that evening and the moment of raw heat during the dance. It hurt, but not enough to convince her to leave.


  They sat in silence. At some point Benneit took the damp cloth from her and soothed Jamie’s face. Eventually the shudders calmed and Jamie’s body stretched out, inch by inch, his eyes fluttering open and a little colour returning to his cheeks.

  ‘I’ll never eat tarts again, Papa,’ he whispered, his voice raw. ‘Ever.’

  Benneit set aside the cloth and smiled.

  ‘Not for a while, at least, little turtle. Can you sleep now?’

  ‘I’m thirsty.’

  Benneit glanced past her towards where Angus and Nurse were seated by the door. He gently put down Jamie’s hand and stood.

  ‘I will return directly, Jamie.’

  The three disappeared and the room sank into silence again. Jo watched Jamie’s quivering lower lip.

  ‘Did I ever tell you about my dog Bumblebee?’ Jo asked.

  ‘You had a dog named Bumblebee?’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t strictly mine like Flops is yours. He belonged to the farmer down the lane, but I made believe he was mine and he was certainly of no use as a sheepdog. He was far too small, for one thing, and the only thing he chased were butterflies and bumblebees. But he had one skill no other dog ever had...’

  She let the words hang until Jamie detached his eyes from the door and looked at her.

  ‘What could he do?’

  ‘He could talk to other animals, especially donkeys. He used to jump on the back of the farmer’s donkey and ride it down to the pond where there were the most flowers and butterflies. I think cats understood him, too, but they ignored him so I was never certain.’

  Jamie’s mouth softened into a smile so like his father’s her heart became a tightly clenched fist before releasing with a sigh.

  ‘I think they understood. Cats are smart.’

  ‘So they are. Well, one day...’

  Halfway through her elaborate tale, Benneit and Nurse returned with a cup of a brew smelling of chamomile and mint. Benneit raised Jamie gently and spooned the tea into his mouth, waiting between each sip. There was a methodical rhythm to his motions and again she noted he was surprisingly unawkward in his care. He had done this before, set himself and Jamie apart from the world. She was an interloper.