“Flora, you darling creature!” Charlie greeted her with a kiss upon the cheek then gestured broadly to the men before him. “Isn’t it a fine morning for such entertainment?”
“Hmm, yes,” she muttered, uninterested in watching the Scotsmen she had known all her life. “What job has Gwen given you?”
“Andy and I were meant to take account of the weapons. Or arrows?” He shook his head. “Some such thing.”
“Andrew?” Flora glanced around the yard, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Charlie, seemingly noticing her unease, told her, “Don’t fret. I believe he’s in that sword shed thing, actually doing what we were told.”
Just then, Andrew appeared from within the armory, a sheet of paper full of numbers clutched in his hand. He skimmed the sheet again then looked at each swordsman in turn before nodding to himself and tucking the paper into the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Andy, you old so-and-so,” Charlie crooned. “Get our work done and stop dawdling, will you?”
“Aye, Andy,” an older warrior named Douglas sang out to him. “Did ye count the tools real men use, laddie?”
The rest of the Scotsmen laughed along with Douglas and Flora felt her cheeks grow hot. They were poking fun at him for doing something his sister had ordered. She was about to give Douglas a piece of her mind, but Charlie got there first.
“Now see here…whatever your name is, Andy is quite the accomplished fencer and you’d do well to keep that in mind!”
Douglas burst out into chuckles and turned to his friends, saying something in Scottish that Flora had good sense to not repeat. Andrew, on the other hand, merely nodded in their direction and continued on his way. He passed Charlie and Flora with a simple, “Good day.”
Once Andrew had rounded the corner and was firmly out of sight, Douglas and the rest continued their spar, making Gaelic remarks about the softness of British men. Flora felt another hot flash of fury at their jokes and crossed her arms over her chest to quell the rapid anger-fueled pounding of her heart. She saw Charlie watching her with a ridiculous grin on his freckled face.
“My, aren’t we testy?” he asked as Flora turned from him and began to walk away from the armory.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Darling Flora, your face is as red as my hair.”
She brought a hand to her cheek. “It’s just the cold.”
“It is rather frozen this far north, isn’t it?”
“Scotland’s a cold, wet country.”
Charlie stopped. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” she asked, but then followed his stare. Gwen was stalking toward them.
“Hide!” Charlie turned on his heel and dashed away, leaving Flora on her own.
“What are you doing?” Gwen asked in a harsh voice that didn’t seem to match her golden cherub looks.
“I was helping Charlie—”
“Helping Charlie avoid his work? Yes, I’m aware.”
Flora looked around guiltily. “Penelope didn’t need any assistance.”
“At which point you should have come back to me.” She thrust something toward Flora, who took it without thinking.
“Now, get down to the kitchens and make yourself useful!” Gwen stalked off, presumably to order someone else about.
When Flora unraveled the ball of gray fabric, she saw that Gwen had given her an apron. Muttering to herself, and cursing her little sister, she resigned herself to the kitchens and said goodbye to her beautiful hands.
***
By the time the black pudding was made, the sausages cased, and the bloody mess in the kitchen mostly clean, Flora was ready to fall into bed. She wondered how the poor kitchen maids worked so hard day in and day out. While she had always fancied herself a strong woman, she was clearly mistaken.
Her afternoon in the kitchen had stained her frock, mussed her hair, and made Flora smell like the metallic scent of blood and meat. She couldn’t wait to rid herself of her ruined clothes and soak in a fragrant bath to wash away the disgusting layer of sweat and animal filth that coated her. Dinner would be served in two short hours, so she had to hurry.
Flora was about to turn to the stairs that led up to her chambers when she crashed into something firm. Startled, she looked up, coming face to face with Andrew. “Goodness, I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“No harm done.” His brown eyes grazed Flora, sending a rush of heat through her body.
He was used to the fine ladies of London in their silk gowns and impeccably coiled locks. And there she was, mussed, matted, and stained with animal blood. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I was just on my way to change.”
A small smile touched Andrew’s lips and he reached up to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “You look lovely, Flora.”
“Don’t tease me,” she ordered, her gaze falling to the floor. She felt so humiliated at being seen in such a state. She had made a reputation of being poised and delicate, not smeared with red. “I know what I look like.”
“Obviously you don’t.” He gently touched her chin, raising her face upward, forcing their gazes to meet. “I’ve seen you dressed for a ball and dressed for the kitchens. Each version is perfection.”
Flora swallowed the urge to run, not that her tired legs would participate. She thought she should say something, but all her words stuck in her dry throat. She was never prepared for Andrew, nor the confusing swirl of emotions he caused to fly through her chest—hope, fear, adoration, bewilderment…lust.
“I’ll let you get ready for dinner. Will you sit beside me?” he asked, his hand still cupped along her jaw.
She nodded, still unable to speak.
Andrew nodded slightly, then pressed his lips carefully, softly upon her forehead for just a moment before releasing her, leaving on his way, wherever he was going. Flora leaned back against the wall for support, feeling as if her legs wouldn’t hold her weight any longer.
“Dear Lord,” she rasped. “I’m not even wearing a corset and I still can’t bloody breathe.”
“Language!” a voice chastised from the top of the stairs.
Flora jumped and looked up, seeing Gwen sitting on the steps. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough.”
She righted herself and balled her gown in her hands as she strode up the stairs, hoping the inevitable flush was gone from her cheeks. But judging by Gwen’s lifted eyebrows and bemused expression, she was sure it was not.
“I’m going to go wash the kitchen stench off,” Flora announced as she passed.
“Lovely,” Gwen said, rising and following Flora. “I’ll come keep you company.”
“I don’t need company,” she spat, a bit harsher than she meant.
Gwen stopped Flora from shutting the door in her face. “But I have something I know you like. Something that will make your bath all the more pleasant.”
Flora paused. Gwen knew exactly how to force her hand. “What is it?”
She held up a small glass bottle, showing off a green-tinted oil. “Eucalyptus.”
“Dash it all, Gwen. You know I can’t deny you when you have my favorite scent.” She opened her door wide to allow her entry.
“I ordered it specially through the Portuguese ship. I wasn’t sure if they had gotten my order, as it was sent not many weeks ago,” she explained as Flora took the vial and began filling her bath.
“Well, thank you for thinking of me.”
“Of course. I’ll even let you bathe in peace.”
“Aren’t you in a giving mood?”
“But I would like to make one small request, if I may?”
Flora’s stomach lurched. “If you must.”
“Andrew is a good man. I don’t know him well, but I know enough to see that he cares for you deeply. If you don’t love him, send him home, and end his misery.”
She couldn’t answer with words. So she merely nodded and waited until Gwen had left before lowering herself
into the water. As much as she hated to admit it, Gwen was right. It wouldn’t be fair of her to string Andrew along. But if she did care, did love him like she felt she may, then maybe she would allow him to stay, if only for her own selfish desire to see him.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, knowing that no one would hear her. “Maybe I do love him.”
***
Flora took extra care in dressing before going down for supper. She had her maid pin her hair as it would have been in England and put on a pale green gown with white piping. She hoped she would look as British as possible, as strange as that sounded. Andrew spent his life in the company of carefully poised English roses like Penelope and Flora would hate to appear coarse and rustic.
Before she left for dinner, she grabbed an ivory fan and practiced the graceful way Penelope walked; it was like a ship, gliding over a smooth sea. Andrew would like a woman who walked confidently like that. No, he deserved a woman like that, who would fit in seamlessly with the other barristers and their fine, English wives.
When Flora came to the sitting room, she smiled inwardly when she saw Andrew’s gaze roll over her appreciatively. She waited for him to approach her, which he did within moments of her entering.
“You look lovely,” he murmured.
“Thank you.” She opened up her fan and fluttered it before her face in a way she hoped was coy.
“Are you excited for the festivities tomorrow?” Andrew asked as he escorted her to the dining table.
“Yes, Martinmas is always a lot of fun. People travel from all over the highlands.”
After he helped her into a seat, he took his own. “And what does one do as a Martinmas celebration?”
“Well, the tenants pay their taxes and everyone begins the winter preparations. Usually the excess animals are slaughtered and the harvests are all taken in.”
“Is that why there was…blood in your hair?” he questioned quietly and in a very serious manner.
Flora frowned and turned to her meal, embarrassed at being reminded of her earlier state. “Yes,” she mumbled. “It was for the black pudding.”
“Then I’m sure it’ll be delicious,” Andrew murmured, his face close to hers.
She felt flattered and was trying to think of something witty to say when Charlie caught her eye. He was all teeth as he stared at the pair in obvious, unabashed enjoyment. Flora bobbed her head slightly to her left, hiding behind an artful display of harvest wheat that sat as a display upon the table.
“Did you hear that?” Gwen asked from her right.
“What?” Flora hadn’t been listening to anything anyone was saying.
“Drum said that when Conner comes home, there will be a horse race!” Gwen was flushed. She adored horse races and didn’t miss a single one when they ran near the castle. Flora suspected her quiet sister might even make a bet or two, but never asked, as Conner would certainly never approve of gambling.
“That’s rather exciting.” Andrew leaned toward them. “I was in the stables earlier and I must say that you have such marvelous beasts.”
“Will you participate, Mr. Philips?” Gwen asked.
Andrew chuckled a bit, but didn’t seem all that amused. “As tempting as that may be, I admit that I’m not an overly accomplished horseman. Especially when it comes to Clydesdales.”
“Will ye spar, then?” Drum called from the other end of the table. “Or join in with the archery? There’s always a fair prize for the caber toss as well.”
“Oh, yes,” Gwen said. “You know, Drum took first place the year before last.”
Drum grinned and looked at his wife. “Aye, took on a bag o’ silver for my talents. But no need for that, this year. Our farm does quite well. Although I may compete all the same.”
“But dear old Andy is a superb fencer, aren’t you, Andy?” Charlie had pushed the centerpiece aside.
Andrew shrugged and put down his fork. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Look, he’s being modest,” Charlie crooned. “Go on Andy, tell us all about your fancy fencing tutors at Eaton.”
Noticing Andrew’s growing unease, Flora commanded, “Stop teasing Andrew, Charlie, and tell us what you will be participating in.”
Charlie didn’t miss a beat. “Will there be a kissing booth? I was at a fair this summer where you paid—”
“No,” Drum retorted shortly. Then he picked up a decanter of whisky and handed it to Charlie. “Have at this, then.”
Charlie grinned. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Pay him no mind,” Flora told Andrew under her breath. “He just wants to goad you into a fight.”
Andrew didn’t seem at all flustered by Charlie’s behavior. “Perhaps I will join in on a competition or two in the spirit of things.”
“Just stay away from the archery, aye?” Drum warned good-naturedly. “I may be a fine thrower, but I’m the best archer in the highlands.”
As the conversation tore away from the games into an account of the estate by Gwen, Flora studied. And by studied, she watched Penelope’s every move. She examined her hands as Penelope took small bites of her food and delicate sips of cider. Flora even took note of the way Penelope flirted with Drum—a light hand upon his arm as they spoke and a playful bat of her lashes when he looked her way.
Penelope made being a lady look so effortless. But Flora’s back hurt from sitting up straight and she couldn’t imagine how Penelope managed to always keep her face frozen at such a pleasant state. She knew her well enough to honestly say that Penelope’s movements and demeanor weren’t an act, but her way of being…the way of being for a true English woman of breeding. And Flora was desperate to capture it.
Chapter Fifteen
Flora bounced on the balls of her feet as she waited for Charlie outside his bedchamber. The blasted man had made her promise to go down to the Martinmas festivities together and he was the late one. Conner and Charlotte had already arrived home late the night before and she could hear the sounds of villagers approaching, the din wafting through the halls—the shrill shrieks of excited children, the calls of their mothers bidding them to stay close, and the bellowing roars of the men as they shouted to one another.
She didn’t mind being late, but as a MacLeod sister, she would be on display as the marriageable gem she was. And what good was being on display if no one saw her dove gray gown and white fur cloak? Certainly, she was quite focused on Andrew, but it was still nice to be acknowledged as a beauty.
“Charlie, open this door and let’s go down!” She banged her fist against the door. “Hurry!”
After several quite moments, Charlie’s neighbor opened their door instead. It was Andrew, presumably coming down to join the merrymaking below. He was dressed quite plainly, but elegantly, in a dark gray suit and burgundy vest. He wore no hat, and Flora was glad, as his hair shone finely in the sunlight.
“Is Charlie in trouble?” he asked as he approached.
She pointed to the closed door, a bit flustered at being caught yelling in the hall like a commoner. “He won’t open the door.”
His brows rose and the corners of his lips twitched. “Is that so?”
“I promised Charlie I wouldn’t go downstairs without him and he refuses to come out.”
“Would you like me to look in on him?”
“I tried that. He’s locked the door.”
Andrew pressed his cheek to the door and frowned. “Are you sure he’s even in there?”
“Oh…actually, no. I just assumed he would be.”
“Since he’s apparently gone, might I accompany you downstairs?”
“Certainly.”
The festive rousing outside hadn’t spilled into the castle, not yet. The masses of people were still contained within the walls of the keep. Meat was roasting over one of the massive fires built the day before, kitchen maids milled about with jugs of ale, and a group of bagpipers played near the gate, beckoning the stragglers to come forward out of the wind and into the safety of the w
alls.
While the revelry was still as amusing and enthralling as always, she found her gaze drawn to Andrew. His gaze darted around the courtyard and he could barely keep still. He led her from the jugglers to the tables of sweet meats, to the pipers, and to the prized horses, all around the yard until Flora could barely catch her breath. Andrew commandeered a bench for her, and then dashed off to find her something to drink as quickly as she sat.
“Flora, where have ye been?” Conner arrived and sat beside her on the bench. “I thought I saw ye with that Philips lad.”
“Because you did,” Flora replied. “And I’d hardly classify him as a lad. He’s almost your age.”
Conner’s dark blue eyes flashed. “I had heard he was here, and I wanted to see if ye needed me to oust him.”
“No, I’d like him to stay.”
“Really? The last I saw o’ him, he was shoutin’ outside in the snow as ye begged him to leave.”
Flora sighed. “Well, things are different now and I’d like the chance to get to know him.”
“Are ye sure, lass? Ye’ve been wounded by…him, and if this Philips lad were to harm ye, I’d have his blood on my hands and my wife would never let me hear the end o’ it.”
“He won’t,” Flora asserted firmly. “He’s a gentleman of good breeding and education.”
“I’ve seen enough learned men who appeared to be good, but ended up beatin’ their wives and shirkin’ their responsibilities.”
“Andrew’s not like them. He’s kind to me, patient, and has been nothing but honest since the start and it would behoove you to respect my wishes on the matter.”
He growled a bit under his breath. “I’m still keepin’ an eye on him.”
“Good morning, MacLeod,” Andrew greeted as he approached, a cup in his hand.
Conner nodded and watched as Andrew handed Flora the glass. “Philips.”
“Thank you for the hospitality your clan has extended,” Andrew began. “This Martinmas celebration is quite exciting.”
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