His Tarnished Ruby

by Kelsey McKnight

  “No, thank you,” Flora mumbled as her knees hit the stone.

  Then she was swung up in the air and into Andrew’s arms. She knew she wasn’t a particularly heavy woman, but she still wouldn’t have expected him to be able to lift her. Still, his grasp was rather comfortable and she leaned her head upon his shoulder, which felt much more defined and muscular than she would have thought.

  “Now, Madam, please tell me where your chambers are.”

  Flora racked her brain, her thoughts melting together. “Up the stairs.”

  “How many stairs?”

  “One flight,” she replied thoughtfully. “Perhaps two? You won’t drop me?”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  They began their arduous journey, strolling through the sitting room and to the narrow family staircase that led to her private quarters. As he began the climb, Flora threw her arms about his neck, frightened at being released to fall to her death. She had fallen down those same steps as a child, and still had the scar on her chin to show for it. She could feel Andrew’s steady heartbeat against her fingers, and that calmed her a bit. So she closed her eyes and took deep breaths. She could smell him—a faint scent of lemon and something else she couldn’t identify. It was almost the same aroma that came from some of Conner’s older library books.

  “Is this your floor, Madam?”

  Flora opened her eyes, thankful to be closer to the comforts of her own bed. “Aye. Second door.”

  Andrew nodded and walked her to the door before placing her carefully upon her feet, one hand at her elbow to help her stay upright. “Now shall I call for a maid?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. Thank you, Mr. Philips,” she whispered, breaking his hold on her and seizing the knob. “I never could have done it without you.”

  “Quite all right, Madam.”

  Flora waved her free hand. “Please, don’t call me Madam. I’m only nineteen. Call someone else Madam.”

  “As you wish.” He bobbed a short bow. “Good evening, Miss MacLeod.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Philips. Top notch carrying skills.” Flora gave him a pat on the arm before going into her room and locking the door behind her.

  She almost debated pulling the cord for a maid, but didn’t need any gossip concerning her obnoxious inebriation in the kitchens. Instead, she stomped to her bed, kicking off her slippers and pulling at the back of her gown, trying to reach the fastenings. Flora managed to get a few unhooked and pulled the gown over her head. Finally, she sloppily unlaced enough of her corset to shimmy out of it.

  Her sheets were deliciously cool to the touch and felt wonderful against her hot skin. She was about to slip into sleep when she had a thought. Although silly, she felt as if she needed to open her window—to let a falling star bring a dream, as her mother used to say. With all the unhappiness her love of Jasper had brought her, Flora felt as if she needed a dream that night.

  Groaning, she pushed herself off her bed and wobbled toward one of her narrow windows, using a chair and a small writing desk to aid in her venture. Heaving deep breaths, pushing the window open was harder than she remembered. Another final thrust opened the glass, letting the early fall air rush in.

  She wanted to stay by the window a bit longer, to take in the salt air coming up from the cliffs, but Flora knew she desperately needed rest. She shuffled back to her four-poster and slid beneath the down comforter. With each moment, her body relaxed and the fresh breeze caressed her skin. Flora watched the night sky, where the stars were slowly disappearing with the pink early morning light that threatened to spill over the horizon.

  The sunrise was coming, breaking a new day that Flora didn’t anticipate. Her mind was awash with images of Jasper and the maid. The drunken thoughts weren’t kind and Flora begged them to leave so she could sleep. The idea of seeing Jasper on the castle grounds wasn’t a pleasant one. She knew she would only imagine him coming from Una’s bed and there was no telling when she would again see the maid again; certainly at the next large family meal.

  Flora turned over, her back to the window. The stars were all gone, and so were the dreams she once had.

  Chapter Three

  Flora slowly opened her eyes; the bright morning light streaming in from the open window nearly blinded her. She threw her arm over her face and groaned. The events of the night before washed over her, more biting than the sun. She lay in a puddle of embarrassment, shame, and pain from a pounding headache.

  She reached up and knocked on the paneling above her headboard. Her aim was to get her little sister’s attention, as their beds shared a wall, an almost makeshift one at that. While most of the partitions in the castle were stone, this single one was made of wood, as their separate dwellings were once one. Ever since childhood, they communicated with raps upon the paneling. But that morning there was no secret message, only the desperate call of the hung-over.

  After a dozen knocks, Gwen bounced in. “Yes?”

  “Gwen,” Flora rasped, peeking out from under her arm. “I feel I might die. You must write my will and testament. Your handwriting is so much neater than mine.”

  “You’re not going to die. You merely smell like a brewery and look even worse.” She crinkled her small nose delicately.

  “You have the most soothing voice, I can almost ignore the nastiness of your statement.” She closed her eyes again.

  “Shall I fetch you something?”

  Flora felt the bed shift and knew Gwen had sat down near her feet. “A quicker death.”

  “So dramatic. Tell me, what happened last night? One moment you were guzzling wedding wine, and the next, you were gone. Big Angus said he saw you lying in the sitting room, but you had disappeared by the time I came to find you.”

  “I can’t recall. It’s too shameful.”

  “I’m sure it’s not all that bad.”

  Flora rolled over to put her back to the windows and peered at Gwen through lowered lashes. “I saw Jasper.”

  Gwen pursed her lips. “So did everyone.”

  “I saw him with…with…”

  “With whom?”

  “A maid called Una.” She tried to brush the image of their embrace from her mind. It made her feel sick. “They were pawing at one another and she…they…oh, Gwen.” She began to cry, although she didn’t wish to.

  Gwen crawled up next to Flora and lay down beside her, taking her hand. “I’m sorry, that’s just monstrous. He’s such a filthy cad.”

  “I just can’t believe what I saw,” she sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “He made such a show of refusing to dance with me that I kept drinking. Then I was so ill with drink, I could barely stand up. And I was all alone in the hallway, trapped on the floor.”

  “Than how did you get to bed?”

  Flora sighed. She had almost forgotten her little adventure with the British man. “I nearly forgot that part, although I sincerely wish I had.”

  “What?”

  “Do you know Andrew Philips?”

  Gwen’s brow furrowed as she thought. “Is he rather tall and handsome? Dark red hair?”

  “The same,” Flora confirmed. “It’s a bit blurry, but I think he found me in the corridor outside the feasting hall and was forced to…to carry me upstairs.”

  Gwen’s pale cheeks pinked. “Certainly he did not!”

  “He did.”

  “Goodness, that is improper. I’m glad no one saw. If someone had, everyone would know about it by now.”

  “I don’t know if it’s the drink or the humiliation that will send me to an early grave.”

  “Flora, the only place you’re being sent right now is the bath.”

  The mere thought of rising from her soft, down pillows made nauseous. “Must I?”

  “I insist.”

  Flora watched as Gwen rose from the bed and crossed to the bathroom. She could hear the water begin filling the porcelain tub. Little Gwendolyn had always been a miniature nurse, which was always odd, considering she was the youngest of the MacL
eod flock. If any of the girls or Conner were ill, Gwen would be the one to feed them broth and pour them tea, imploring them to stay abed. Flora thought that if she hadn’t been a noble born lady, Gwen would have certainly trained as a healer.

  When Gwen left the bathroom to fetch Flora, her golden curls had been hastily pinned up at the top of her head. “Now, let’s get you up.”

  “Can’t I just wallow for a bit? At least until the afternoon?”

  “It is noon, Flora,” Gwen told her with her hands upon her hips. “We’re going to get you cleaned up, dressed, and downstairs for luncheon with the rest of the guests.”

  “I can’t do it.” She pulled the covers over her head and nestled deeper into the mattress, willing her sister to let her die in peace.

  The blankets were abruptly torn from Flora’s body, leaving her chilled. “Gwendolyn, I declare, you may be the slightest of all our sisters, but you’re certainly the strongest.”

  “Up, up, up!”

  Flora’s skull throbbed with each word. “I’ll rise if you’ll be quiet for a moment.”

  Gwen nodded and crossed her arms, her small foot tapping on the stone.

  The floor was cold under Flora’s feet and she hurried to the tub. The comforting scent of violet and eucalyptus greeted her and seemed to heal some of her headache. She hurried out of her shift and into the warm, murky water. Flora held her hair atop her head and sunk deeper until her shoulders were submerged.

  Gwen entered, several hairpins in her fist. She sat on the edge of the tub and her fingers made quick work of Flora’s hair. No tendril was left to dangle.

  “I’ve always loved your hair,” Gwen whispered, tucking the last strand behind Flora’s ear. “It’s like strands of spun gold.”

  “Yours is just as nice.”

  “The color, yes, but my curls get all in a tangle while yours hangs straight and soft.” She picked up a squat green container and held it out to Flora. “Guess what I have?”

  “When did we get eucalyptus scents? I thought we used it all months ago.” Flora had missed the foreign, minty smell.

  “Conner had them brought in a few days ago when a ship came with some of the things for Penelope and Drum’s wedding.”

  “Which ship? Was it the Portuguese trader?”

  Gwen shrugged. “Perhaps. There’s all manner of queer objects in the larder now. I was looking for the books Conner promised me when I found the new bottle.”

  “Thank you for bringing it.”

  “I’m going to go lay out a gown,” Gwen told her, rising from her perch. “Do try not to drown. I’m much too busy to be pulling you from a watery grave at present.”

  Flora rolled her eyes and rested in the fragrant water, which was rapidly cooling by the minute. She knew she would soon be forced from its comforting warmth, but couldn’t bear the reality of it. Leaving that bath was the first step toward rejoining the busy household below. She couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing Jasper again in the halls or being served tea by busty Una. She couldn’t touch a single teacake served by the woman, knowing where her hands had been. It was enough to make her stomach twist into knots.

  Not able to stew in her own thoughts a moment more, she grabbed the towel Gwen had left and climbed out of the tub, hurriedly wrapping herself. Once she had dried, she went into her bedroom, where Gwen sat at her dressing table, smelling her perfume bottles.

  “Your clothes are all on the bed.”

  Flora shuffled to where her gown and underthings were laid out and hastily pulled them on, calling Gwen over when it came time to button the soft green velvet in the back. She didn’t bother with jewels, or dressing her hair much more than running a brush through the long locks. The mere idea of having her hair pinned up into the tight curls and coils as she did in London would do nothing to help her splitting headache.

  She linked arms with Gwen and allowed her sister to lead her downstairs and into the feasting hall, where all the wedding guests were breaking their fast…or rather, partaking in an afternoon meal. She had forgotten how many people had stayed in the castle and the hall was nearly as busy as it had been the night before. Thankfully, it wasn’t as loud.

  As they walked between the tables to the head seats at the front of the room, Flora locked eyes with Jasper. He sat among his friends and shot her a cheeky grin as she passed, as he usually had every day past for almost two years. Normally, the small look would hearten her, but that day it felt like a cannonball to the chest. He was acting as if he hadn’t slighted her at the wedding feast, nor followed Una up to her chambers afterward. It was disgusting.

  She turned her nose up at him and straightened her back, trying to send a clear message that he had fallen out of her good graces. Another also caught her gaze. Andrew Philips sat at the end of one table, taking nothing but tea. He held a small book in his hand, and most notably, had a pair of round spectacles balanced upon his straight nose. Flora thought it a most unusual sight, as almost no one wore glasses in their part of the highlands.

  He was still reading when Flora sat at her place between Conner and Gwen. She wondered briefly what book was so interesting it had to come with him to dine. But Conner’s curious gaze brought her out of her musing.

  “What is my wee sister starin’ at?” Conner asked, passing his infant son Alec to a nursemaid.

  Flora looked down as a servant—thankfully not Una—placed sandwiches and fruit upon her plate. “Nothing.”

  “Conner, you leave your sister alone or I swear I’ll stab you in the hand with my fork!” Charlotte threatened from his other side.

  “Ach, ye jest. Ye’d never harm my hands. Ye love them! Just last night you told me how ye like when I—”

  Thunk.

  Flora’s head shot up to see Conner cradling his right hand, his mouth gaping open, staring at his wife. “You stabbed me, ye daft lass!”

  “Merely a graze,” Charlotte corrected calmly. “A warning shot, if you will.”

  Flora leaned over, seeing the faintest of scratches on the back of Conner’s hand, right below his knuckles. “You’re so dramatic. There isn’t even any blood.”

  “I could have died,” Conner asserted seriously. “This will scar, I’m sure of it.”

  “Good thing I like scars then.” Charlotte smiled sweetly and offered her husband a slice of orange, which he gladly took before leaning in to whisper in her ear, making the woman glow pink.

  “Ugh, sickening,” Flora grumbled, biting into her sandwich. Although she didn’t understand their odd dynamic, she knew they were happy. Seeing Conner and Charlotte so revoltingly in love made her own loss sting all the more.

  “Don’t be jealous,” chastised Gwen quietly. “You’re already wearing a green dress, you needn’t add more of the hue to your person.”

  Flora huffed. Gwen was right, she was jealous, and it didn’t suit her. It was all well and good when she was staying in London, going to balls and dancing with men and allowing them to take her to the theater. She had nary given Jasper another thought when soft British men in England were pursuing her. Not even in the wee morning moments had she overly worried about the Scot. But with him so near, she felt herself drawn to him in an unhealthy manner, pushing away all others, even when he hurt her so.

  “I think I’m going to go take the air,” Flora told Gwen as she pushed away her half finished food. “I need to clear my head.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I just need to think.”

  As Flora strolled along the side of the hall, taking care to stay far away from Jasper’s table, someone calling her name stopped her. Andrew Philips was approaching, tucking his glasses into the front pocket of his morning coat.

  “Good day, Miss MacLeod,” he said with a nod.

  She blanched as she recalled him carrying her inebriated body up to her chambers. The feelings of sheer mortification rose up her chest and settled into her cheeks. “Hello, Mr. Philips. About last night—”

  H
e held up a hand. “Please, say nothing of it, for both our sakes.”

  “But I must thank you for your help…and your discretion.”

  It was Andrew’s turn to flush, but he turned his face down to look at his timepiece. “Please, say no more. Might I escort you anywhere? I’m on my way to meet my carriage at present. I must catch the evening train.”

  “No, thank you. I was just going for a walk around the grounds. I’ll come with you as far as the main door, though.”

  He held out his arm, which she gratefully took. The look of pure shock on Jasper’s face in the corner of her eye made her draw the Englishman all the closer as they left the feasting hall. She hoped that Jasper felt a sliver of the pain he had inflicted upon her the night before.

  “Mr. Philips, what was the book I saw you reading just now?”

  “Well, um…” He cleared his throat before drawing it out of his pocket with a free hand. It was a soft yellow leather, black letters spelled out Songs and Legends of the MacLeod Clan. “I picked this up in one of the shops in Edinburg before coming north. I wanted to learn a bit about the area and this is all I could find on your household.”

  Flora plucked the book from his hand. “Do you know who wrote this?”

  “No, I didn’t think to look.”

  “Drummond MacGregor.” Flora laughed. “Penelope’s husband!”

  His dark eyes glimmered jovially. “My word, you don’t say!”

  She flipped open the cover, showing him Drum’s name. “It is. He released it almost directly after the first.” Flora then gave the book back to him, watching as he brushed his thumb over the embossed words on the front before slipping it back into his jacket.

  “I do wish I knew this before. I really must tell him how much I enjoy his work next time I see him with the Elmslys in London.”

  When they reached the main door, a manservant passed Andrew his hat. He released Flora from his arm and popped the hat on his head before turning back to her.

  “Well, Miss MacLeod, it’s been…quite entertaining.”

  “It has,” she agreed, glad he wasn’t about to tease her, although she would have deserved it for how drunk she was in his presence.