“I have promised I will help Isobel by sketching her excavations,” she answered, dimly aware of a sense of disappointment.
“Another time, then,” he said. The pressure of his fingers increased just slightly, before he released her hand.
“Join us,” said Isobel cheerfully. “Sophy can share her wisdom with us as well.”
Sophy stood somewhat reluctantly and fell into step beside Isobel, while Ranulf joined Francis and Douglas. She looked once over her shoulder and her eyes met his. She saw a glimmer of a smile there, and looked away, confused. She was not quite sure, but she thought something had changed.
Chapter 14
The next day, Isobel and Sophy sat at the edge of a large pit, staring intently at the footings which had been exposed that day by the workmen. A pile of rubble lay nearby, which Isobel had earnestly explained was a collapsed wall. Sophy held a sketchbook and her charcoal as she gazed at the ruins with an air of concentration, mingled with a touch of confusion.
“It must have been the bakery,” said Isobel firmly. “There, you can see the shape of the oven.”
“Where?” asked Sophy plaintively.
“There.” Isobel pointed, and Sophy nodded, though without comprehension. She laughed.
“I will draw it precisely as it is,” she promised. “It is not as though I need to understand it to render it. You can doubtless explain to others precisely where the oven is.”
The workday had drawn to a close, and the ladies had stayed past their usual hour in order to complete the sketches of the dig, though the workmen had already gone home to dinner. While the sun was still bright, it was slowly descending toward the horizon, and long shadows crept across the gilded stone.
“Oh, how I wish I was doing a water color or an oil of this instead of this mere drafting!” Sophy exclaimed. “The light on the stones makes them glow, and the way it shimmers in those birches is inspiring a very different picture in my mind’s eye. It is amazing to me that we are the first to see these walls in so many centuries. Only think, the Romans must have seen something very similar to this very scene.”
“I am very sorry to disappoint you, Sophy, but alas, I need to continue to dig while the weather is fine, as one never knows when it will rain in Scotland for a week or more continuously,” Isobel replied. “A sketch is all we have time for.” She smiled sympathetically at Sophy’s grimace. “You may come and paint tomorrow if the light remains fine, and save making the pen and ink versions of your drawings for a rainy day, you know.”
“Very well, ”Sophy laughed and picked up her pencil again. “I will sacrifice artistic fulfillment for scholarship. I can also use these sketches to produce a painting at a later date. But it seems a pity to waste this light.”
She commenced sketching again as Isobel watched the scene below them emerge, occasionally commenting on some feature or other. Another half hour passed, and the drawing was close to completion when the drum of approaching hoof beats could be heard.
Isobel looked up. “I wonder who that could be,” she said absently. Sophy continued to sketch, oblivious. A few moments later the noise subsided as the hoof beats slowed to a trot and then a walk.
“Francis! And Colonel Stirling!” Isobel exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Sophy’s head shot up from her work and she looked around, wide-eyed. Lord Exencour and Colonel Stirling were approaching them, Ranulf once again mounted on the fine bay he had ridden when they had encountered one another on the moor. She took in his appearance for a moment, his wide shoulders outlined by his well-cut coat, his hair ruffled slightly by the breeze, a neckerchief carelessly knotted around his neck. She looked away again, but was unable to concentrate on her drawing.
“Seeking my tardy wife,” Francis replied. “Have you forgotten we are promised to the Fairbairns for dinner?”
“Oh!” Isobel stood hastily. “I had indeed forgotten. You see, we uncovered the bakery today, and Sophy is making excellent progress with the sketches. I want her to finish them today, so we stayed after the workmen departed.”
“I see that,” said Francis, a hint of humor in his voice. “And yet, we are still promised to the Fairbairns in less than an hour.”
“I cannot leave Sophy here alone, and the workmen will come tomorrow and continue digging,” fretted Isobel. “She must finish the drawing, or this stage of the excavation will not be documented.”
“I may have a solution.” Sophy glanced up quickly as Ranulf spoke, and then looked away again, attempting to focus on her drawing. She drew a number of lines completely at random, and then, sighing, rubbed them out.
“If you will permit me, I will remain with Lady Sophia, and accompany her home when she is finished,” Ranulf continued.
“Would you?” Isobel beamed at him. “That would be a very helpful of you. The Fairbairns are old friends, and I would not want to disappoint them, but this is the bakery, you know, and therefore—”
“I’m sure Ranulf is fascinated by the bakery,” interpolated Francis. “But for now, we must be going. Are you sure you do not mind staying behind?”
“Not at all,” replied Ranulf. “I have nothing to do this evening but read a book and fall asleep in my chair before the fire, a prospect that leaves me cold. Waiting with Lady Sophia will be a welcome diversion.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Isobel. She turned to Sophy. “If you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” Sophy shook her head and smiled at Isobel and then resolutely turned back to her drawing, refusing to look at Ranulf.
“Thank you so much, my dear!”
Sophy continued to sketch somewhat at random as Isobel gathered up her belongings and mounted her horse, which was tethered nearby.
“I will see you tomorrow,” she called and Sophy looked up and waved before returning to her drawing. She bit her lip and concentrated intensely as Ranulf looped his horse’s reins over a tree branch. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his lithe figure turn toward her, and then approach slowly. In a moment, he stood next to her.
“Will it bother you if I sit here?” he asked, indicating the chair Isobel had abandoned.
“What? Oh! No, not at all,” responded Sophy, annoyed to find herself once again flustered by his presence.
Ranulf lowered himself into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him; Sophy found her eyes wandering as she noted their shapely length. She made an exasperated noise.
“Is something wrong, Lady Sophia?”
“No—it is just that I am trying to hurry,” she replied.
“Do not. I am happy to stay here as long as I am needed,” he said. “This is a lovely summer night, and come winter in the keep at Spaethness, I will be glad I spent it outside. It will be light enough to draw for at least another hour, and the twilight will be sufficient to light our way back to Glencairn. Unless you think your mother and father will be worried about you.”
“No, they are never concerned when I am with Isobel,” said Sophy blithely.
“I will try to be as good a guardian,” answered Ranulf.
Sophy laughed at that. “You make yourself sound very old,” she said, putting down her pencil and turning to look at him. She instantly wished she had not, for it only served to make her note the fineness of his brown eyes and the gentle smile on his firm lips.
“I am rather old, compared to you,” he said calmly. “I do my best to remember that.”
“Nonsense. I have been out for three Seasons.”
“You are a practically on the shelf, I perceive,” he said teasingly.
“Of course I am not! I merely wish you to understand that I am not some green girl.”
“I will bear that in mind.”
Sophy tilted her head, pondering him for a moment, and then turned back to her drawing. Their conversation seemed to have dispelled some of her anxiety and she worked with speed and fluency, the scene in front of them appearing ever more clearly on the paper in front of her. After almost an hour
had passed, she put down her pencil.
“Have you finished?” asked Ranulf.
“I think so,” replied Sophy. She hesitated a moment and then held her sketchbook out to him. “What do you think?”
He pondered the drawing gravely, glancing up now and again to compare it to the excavation. “I think you have done an excellent job of revealing the scene. It must be difficult for you, with your artistic feelings, to render something exactly.”
Sophy nodded her head. “I must always remember that Isobel relies on me for accuracy, not beauty.”
“Yet it is still beautiful,” Ranulf murmured. “You have a fine eye, and even in charcoal I have a sense of the light on the stones.”
“Do you?” Sophy looked up eagerly, and they shared a smile. She felt a sudden urge to reach out to him, and stood hastily, turning to put away her tools. “You must forgive me for taking so long,” she gasped.
“Not at all. Watching you work was a great pleasure.” Ranulf stood as well. “May I assist you?”
“What? Oh, no, I’m fine,” breathed Sophy, shoving her pencils haphazardly into her satchel. “Would you hand me my sketchbook, please?”
“Certainly.” He picked up the book and approached her, flipping slowly through the pages. “You are very talented.”
Sophy let out her breath. “Do you think so?”
“I do indeed.” He smiled down at her. “It’s lovely.” There was a small pause. “You are lovely.”
Sophy blinked, not knowing quite what to say. Almost without thinking, she leaned toward him, placing her hand on his arm. He covered it with his own and she looked down, watching her small white fingers engulfed by his longer, much browner hand. He raised her hand slightly and his thumb moved lightly over her palm, caressing it, and then slid up to stroke the softness of her inner wrist. Her lips formed a little “o” of surprise, and she felt her breath come faster as she turned her face up toward his and took a step nearer to him.
With a muttered oath, Ranulf made to remove his hand, but Sophy clutched it, staying him. She turned into him, not thinking as she pressed herself against him, looking searchingly up into this face. There was something she wanted very much, she realized, though she was not quite sure what it was.
“Lady Sophia, this is highly improper,” said Ranulf quietly.
“Is it?” she asked.
“It is.”
“No one is here to see,” she murmured.
“Damn it.” Ranulf wrapped his other arm around her waist and drew her up against him. She could feel the strength of his body through the fabric of her dress and she moved tentatively, seeking a closeness that might resolve the ache she felt inside herself.
“We should not be doing this,” he said.
“No?”
“No.” But he did not release her, and when she moved her hips slightly, seating herself more tightly against him, he slid his hand up her arm and over her shoulder to cradle the back of her neck. He held her head still and looked deeply into her eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she answered, though she was not at all certain what she was saying. But she found her answer when he lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a kiss that was at first gentle, feather-light, soft and seductive, but, as she responded eagerly, became increasingly demanding. She gasped, and he swallowed the sound, taking advantage of her open lips to run his tongue over them and then to slide persuasively into her mouth, caressing the warmth he found there. He drew her closer, settling her against him so that she could feel his hard strength and urgency, as he deepened the kiss. He lifted his head for a moment to rain small kisses across her cheekbone and down her neck and then returned to her lips as she clung to him, holding him closer, desperate for his attention.
As Sophy shivered with pleasure, Ranulf’s hand moved up from her to her ribcage, even as his other hand cupped her head, holding her immobile as he delved more deeply into her silky mouth, seeking even greater contact. His thumb slid gently along the side of her breast and she moaned, wriggling slightly in an attempt to make him ease her tension. He laughed slightly, his warm breath mingling with hers, as he palmed her breast, his thumb now lightly flicking across her nipple as it peaked under her bodice.
“Colonel Stirling,” she whispered against his lips.
“Ranulf,” he answered, his voice full of amusement and passion. He glanced over her shoulder and, before she was aware, he had snatched her up in his arms and carried her to the blanket, still covering the grass from the picnic lunch she and Isobel had enjoyed earlier, and, swiftly laying her down upon it, covered her with his body. He held himself over her with his arms, and she reached up, pulling him down to her, seeking his lips with hers and arching her back, wanting to feel the weight of him over her.
“You’re a passionate one, aren’t you Sophy?” he asked, but it seemed he did not require a response, for his lips met hers again. This kiss was different, stronger, deeper, more searing, and Sophy found herself matching him stroke for stroke as she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down. She felt a tiny thrill of triumph when he groaned and leaned into her, his hips moving over hers with an urgency that promised delights she did not quite understand.
“Ranulf,” she groaned, the name both unfamiliar and enticing on her lips.
He chuckled. “You say that very well,” he murmured. Then his lips trailed down her neck and across the tender skin of her chest, and she forgot how to form a coherent thought. Everything seemed to have been reduced to this moment, to the sensations he was creating in her as she strained against him, craving a satisfaction she did not fully comprehend. His hand grazed her breast and then cupped it, and, when she did not protest, he kissed and then licked at the full top of it as it strained for release from her bodice. He pushed the fabric lower, attempting to free the engorged buds that were enticingly outlined against the thin muslin of her gown, as Sophy moaned and grabbed handfuls of his coat, bunching the fabric together in her fists as she drew him closer.
“Easy, sweetheart,” Ranulf murmured as he finally exposed one nipple and took it into his mouth, drawing on it delicately as Sophy trembled with pleasure. His other hand explored her waist and ribs, finally pushing away the other side of her bodice, allowing Ranulf to lave that breast with pleasure as well. As his hand drifted lower across her abdomen, she felt a powerful yearning to rip Ranulf’s shirt from him and run her hands over his chest. Lost in a haze of sensation, Sophy canted her hips upward while she pressed urgently at the small of Ranulf’s back. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked teasingly.
“I don’t know,” she said with an edge of irritation in her voice. “But I am somehow sure you do.”
Her response, and its unknowing reference to her innocence, gave Ranulf pause, and he raised himself, looking down into her flushed face. “Indeed I do. But, Lady Sophia, you have reminded me that I have grossly overstepped my bounds.”
To Sophy’s displeasure, he made to raise himself from her, and she tightened her grip.
“No, my dear, I cannot take you this way, like a dairymaid in a field,” he said.
She flushed crimson as reality crashed in on her. What must he think of her? Perhaps that she had the morals of a dairymaid. She released him and watched as he sat back on his heels, regarding her gravely.
“Are you unhurt?” he asked.
“How am I to know?” she said crossly.
“I should not have kissed you like that. Please accept my apologies.” His voice was chastened.
“You should not have kissed me?” she repeated, dazed.
“I am completely at fault. You are far too inexperienced to know what might happen next,” said Ranulf. He took her hand in his and raised her to a seated position. “I would understand if you never wished to see me again.”
“Inexperienced?” Sophy felt a rising sense of outrage.
“Very.” Ranulf rose to his feet and then gently helped
her to stand. “Can you forgive me?”
Sophy glared at him, mortification and anger coursing through her in equal parts. “Colonel Stirling, I—I don’t know what has happened here, but I think it best we forget it entirely. Clearly, we were—we are—I am—”
Ranulf looked stricken. “My dear child, please know that this will not happen again,” he said in a low voice.
Sophy trembled with fury. “Child!” she almost shrieked.
Ranulf’s eyes widened, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Lady Sophia, please understand me. I have allowed my admiration for you to lead me into behavior unfitting for a gentleman. It was wrong of me, and I will make any amends you choose.”
“Take me home,” said Sophy abruptly.
“Lady Sophia—”
“I said, take me home!” Sophy turned away, her cheeks flushed with anger.
Ranulf looked at her, assessing her mood, and apparently judged that it was not the time to pursue the conversation. “Very well,” he said. He retrieved her horse from where it was tethered and loaded it up with her tools. Then, silently, he tossed her up into the saddle and fetched his own bay. He pulled up next to her as she glared at him and then, as she moved her mount forward, followed in her wake.
Chapter 15
Harriet rapped at Sophy’s bedroom door, and a startled Wallis opened it. Inside, her young mistress was wearing only her stays and a chemise covered with a wrapper, clearly finding it difficult to choose between two dresses spread across the pale blue silk coverlet on her bed.
“Whatever is making you so late, Sophy?” the countess asked. “Our guests will be here at any moment and you are not yet dressed?”
Sophy flushed. “I was late returning from painting by the river this afternoon,” she muttered.
“That may well be—indeed, I am not surprised at all.” Harriet shrugged. “But that is no reason to make yourself even later by dawdling over your toilette!”
“I cannot decide between the primrose and the green,” Sophy gestured at the dresses helplessly. “What do you think, Mama?”
The Highlander's Yuletide Love Page 9