Killian had been right – he belonged here and he wanted to stay, so they’d all better get used to him.
Marsaili was exhausted from the day’s endeavours, but unaccountably pleased at the praise she had received from the laird. The great hall did look wonderful, or at least as good as it could, given the state of the soft furnishings. It was amazing what water, soap and some polish could achieve in a short space of time.
She listened to the little speech their new master gave and had to concede he sounded sincere. Whether he would be able to follow through on his promises, only time would tell, but it seemed as though he meant every word. She didn’t want to like him, after the ruse he’d practised on them and their exchange of words that morning. A part of her had to admit he’d been well within his rights though. Especially given the fact that she suspected Seton had been swindling him for years. The estate Brice Kinross had returned to was not what it should have been.
Only a fool would have failed to notice something was seriously amiss at Rosyth. Marsaili had been a witness to many encounters between Seton and the tenants over the years.
‘We need more food, extra rations for ourselves and the bairns,’ they’d begged. ‘We’re starvin’ and it’s our right.’
They were invariably turned down. ‘There’s none to be had,’ was Seton’s usual reply. And yet the harvests hadn’t failed for several years and the cattle thrived. So where did all the surplus go, Marsaili wondered?
It was true the estate didn’t yield as much as it had in the old days by all accounts, but Marsaili was sure the crops ought to be able to feed everyone adequately. Somehow there was never enough grain and no money for repairs, however. It simply didn’t add up.
She glanced diagonally across the table at Seton, who was a few places away from her on the other side. His face was like a miniature thunder cloud. Everyone else was loosening up a little and the combined volume of the voices all around them rising. Seton said nothing, just ate in silence.
Once, he looked up, turning his head to fix his hazel eyes on her. Marsaili suppressed a shudder. If he was unhappy, he’d brought it on himself. It was nothing to do with her and she had no sympathy for him. His expression grew even darker when, after the meal, Brice announced there was a sack of oats over by the door for each family to take home.
‘I hope it will be enough to keep you fed until harvest time, but if not, please come and tell me,’ he said.
Marsaili saw Seton’s mouth set in a grim line and he left as soon as everyone else stood up, barging a few people out of the way in his hurry to reach the door.
‘Hmm, that went well, don’t you think?’
The voice just behind her, low and slightly sarcastic, made Marsaili swivel round so fast her braid swished across the laird’s chin. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, I …’ She felt her face turn warm, but he didn’t seem bothered. ‘Er, you were saying?’
‘The meal wasn’t quite as much of an ordeal as I’d thought,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘It would have been nice if they’d talked to me, but at least they didn’t all try to skewer me with their dirks. Or not yet anyway.’
Marsaili watched with him, as the last of the clansmen shuffled out into the balmy evening, the men hefting a heavy sack of grain each. ‘You matched your deeds to your words,’ she commented. ‘People who have children to feed can’t be too hasty.’ She looked up at him and added, ‘Besides, haven’t you heard? Dirks are forbidden.’
Brice shook his head, the smile widening. ‘I may be considered an outsider, but even I know they’re not going to abide by that rule. I doubt very many dirks were handed in to the authorities, at least not the best ones.’ He held up a hand to stop her protesting. ‘But I don’t want to know. It’s none of my business.’
‘Perhaps not. If it’s any help, I’d say they’ve reserved judgement for now. If you want to win them over, you’re going about it the right way.’
‘Thank you. That was exactly what I needed to know and I’ll keep it in mind.’ He bowed to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Buchanan. I trust you’ll sleep well after all your hard work.’ With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, ‘For someone who wants to keep her own position, you’re going about it the right way too.’
Marsaili was torn between wanting to hit him and laughing. In the end, she just shook her head after his retreating back and took herself off to bed, muttering, ‘Dratted man. I hope they do skewer you, and soon.’
But she knew she didn’t mean it and that worried her.
Chapter Eleven
Marsaili slept badly. A combination of too much rich food, which her stomach wasn’t accustomed to, and an unseasonably warm night, had her tossing and turning. In the early hours of the next morning she decided there was no point staying in bed any longer. After all the previous day’s hard work, she felt in need of a complete cleansing, so she gathered together what she required and headed for the loch. With Liath trotting at her heels, she felt safe to go for a swim. The women usually used a small bay secluded by trees when they wanted to bathe. Since it was so early, she didn’t think anyone else would be about in any case and Liath would warn her.
It was the first day of September and the water almost too cold, but she steeled herself and ran in quickly. She let out a shriek, but only under water so it wouldn’t be heard, then swam as fast as she could back and forth until her body had accustomed itself to the temperature. It wasn’t easy to swim wearing a shift, but she managed it. There was no way she’d risk being seen without a stitch on, like some of the others. That, to her mind, was courting disaster. Finally, she set about washing herself and her long hair with the home-made soap which was Flora’s speciality. This took quite some time.
Emerging from the water, she dried herself and changed to a clean shift, bodice and skirt. Further along the shore, closer to the house, there was a small jetty with a magnificent view across the loch and Marsaili decided to go and sit there while she tried to comb out her wet hair. Untangling the unruly curls was always a mammoth task and it helped to have something else to distract her from the frustration of it.
‘Come, Liath,’ she called to the dog, although this wasn’t strictly necessary since he always followed her anyway. She stroked his shaggy grey fur when he came up beside her, shoving his muzzle against her affectionately. ‘Good boy. What would I do without you, eh?’ She smiled at him and humoured him by picking up a stick to play a game of fetch.
Once seated at the end of the jetty, she took out her comb and began the laborious task. She’d often cursed the fate that gave her such a curly mess instead of the lovely wispy waves her half-sisters had been blessed with, but she was used to it now. She worked methodically, dividing the hair into sections and combing out each one before attempting to join them up. About halfway round one side of her head, however, she was startled into dropping the comb when a face popped out of the water right in front of her without warning.
‘Oh!’ She stared, enthralled, at the vision before her.
The new laird, naked to the waist, rose to stand half submerged only yards away from her. His tanned torso gleamed in the early morning sun as the water ran in little rivulets down his chest. She followed their course with her eyes, but blinked and looked away when they reached the edge of his breeches. She couldn’t resist another peek from under her lashes at him though – he was truly magnificent.
Hard muscle under sun-kissed skin, with a trail of golden hair leading downwards from his navel to wet breeches that clung to him. Powerful arms and shoulders which looked like they’d make short work of swimming all the way across the loch. A stomach that was both flat and ridged at the same time in the most fascinating way. Marsaili felt a thrill race through her at this sight.
Then she realised he was grinning at her.
‘I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Buchanan,’ he said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. ‘That was not my intention.’
‘Well, you did a good job of it even so,’ Marsaili snapped, annoyed with herself for being
caught staring at him again. ‘And now I’ve lost my comb too.’ It had bounced off the end of the jetty and straight into the loch.
‘That, at least, I can rectify,’ he said and dived back under the water. A moment later he came up with her comb in one hand. He held it out to her and she had to swallow a gasp as he was now so close she could have reached out and touched his smooth skin had she wanted to.
Which she definitely didn’t. Or so she attempted to tell herself.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and tried not to show her surprise that his fingers felt so warm against hers despite the cold water. A jolt shot through her at the small contact between them and this made her even more flustered. What was the matter with her?
‘You’re very welcome.’
His voice was a bit hoarse this morning. The husky timbre sent shivers down her spine though, so she wasn’t complaining. She realised she was still staring and pulled herself together.
‘What are you doing out here so early?’ she asked. She sounded a bit grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. He seemed to have a knack for rubbing her up the wrong way at the same time as making her feel attracted to him. It was rather unsettling.
He crossed his arms over his chest, which showed off the muscles to great advantage. Marsaili gripped the comb tightly to stop her fingers from touching his taut biceps. It was incredibly tempting and she’d love to know if they were as hard as they looked.
‘Just having a bath,’ he replied with a smile, ‘like you told me last time I was here. I was given to understand hot water was scarce.’
Marsaili was sure her face turned bright pink at this reminder of her ungraciousness during their first meeting. The teasing glint in his eyes didn’t help either. He knew he was discomfiting her and he was doing it on purpose. The scoundrel! But she wasn’t really angry with him and had to hide a smile. ‘Only because it was laundry day,’ she defended herself. ‘Any other time, you’ve only to ask.’
‘That’s good to know.’ He changed the subject. ‘You’re up early too,’ he commented. ‘Should you be out here all alone? You might be abducted by a kelpie.’
‘What nonsense. And I have Liath to protect me. Although …’ She turned an accusing eye on the hound who’d come to lie next to her, wagging his tail furiously at the laird. He hadn’t given her any warning that anyone was approaching. She sighed. ‘It would seem he’s not much use where you are concerned,’ she admitted.
Brice’s smile widened and he reached out to rub the dog’s head. ‘That’s because he’s a clever fellow who knows you’ve got nothing to fear from me.’ Liath took the opportunity to lick his arm, as if confirming this.
‘Hmph.’ Marsaili didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed with his assertion. On the one hand, she should feel reassured if the laird had no designs on her virtue, but on the other … She felt her cheeks heat up again as her brain refused to continue that line of thought. So the man was handsome, what of it? There were many others like him and she was better off without a husband. She’d seen the way her mother was treated when she finally married someone. It had been hell.
Besides, a man like Brice Kinross would never be interested in marrying a servant, even a high-ranking one. No doubt his parents would choose him a bride from among their rich acquaintance. The most he’d want from Marsaili would be a tumble in the hay. And tempting as that might seem when she glanced at his gilded chest yet again, it wasn’t worth the consequences. As her mother had also found to her cost.
She’d do well to stay away from his lordship altogether.
Dear God, but his eyes are so blue! You could drown in them …
Brice couldn’t take his eyes off the woman this morning. He didn’t know why, but somehow she seemed different today. Softer and more vulnerable. Or perhaps the long swim in the lake had relaxed him and mellowed his mood.
He took in the glorious hair, a riot of honey, gold and copper curls, mixed with hints of ochre and flame. He had never seen hair like that before and he’d been wrong to dismiss it as plain ‘red’. It was no such thing. It was beginning to glint in the sun where a few wisps were drying in the morning breeze. A large part of it was still wet and tangled, however, and she was plying her comb as they spoke. Not an easy task, judging by the occasional tightening of her mouth as she fought to pull the comb through the long tresses.
That mouth was generous, but not overly so, with a dimple to one side. He’d only glimpsed it when she smiled at something Kirsty said the night before. So far she hadn’t smiled much around him, which was understandable, he supposed. The sun had only tanned her skin a little, mostly it was creamy and flawless. And those green eyes of hers seemed more vivid outdoors than inside the gloomy rooms of Rosyth House.
Without asking her leave, he hoisted himself onto the jetty beside her and held out a hand. ‘Here, give me the comb and let me help you or you’ll never finish.’
She turned a startled gaze on him and he heard her draw in a sharp breath. ‘What? No! I mean, you can’t …’
‘Of course I can. I have four younger sisters. You’ll see, I’m a dab hand at disentangling stubborn knots.’
‘Four?’ She looked at his outstretched hand and hesitated, then put the comb in it. He closed his fingers around both the comb and her hand for a moment and her eyes flew to his once more. He felt a surge of desire shooting through him, but suppressed it. She was promised elsewhere and she’d made it quite clear during his last visit that she wasn’t interested in being propositioned. He didn’t want to scare her away. Not just yet.
‘Turn around and I’ll soon have your elf-locks sorted out,’ he ordered, and she did as she was told.
‘What do you know about elf-locks?’ she muttered.
‘Only that they’re very tangled, but beautiful nonetheless,’ he replied.
He began to comb out her hair, working methodically the way she’d done herself. The only difference was he could do it faster, since he didn’t have to do it by touch. He found that he liked handling her hair. Even when wet it was silky and smooth, and the colour continued to astound him as more of it dried. From where he sat, he also had a perfect view over her shoulder into her loosely fastened bodice. The top half of the perfect curves which were displayed made his fingers itch to reach around her and touch them for himself. Again, he resisted.
‘I see you’re a practical woman,’ he commented.
‘How so?’ Her voice sounded slightly dreamy, as though she was enjoying having her hair combed.
‘You wear a bodice which is fastened at the front so you don’t need anyone’s help to don it. A shame, I could have acted as your lady’s maid.’
She sent him a suspicious glance over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. ‘And I suppose you’re well versed in that skill as well, what with all those sisters?’
He grinned at her. ‘Of course. Where else would I have learned?’
She snorted. ‘Where else indeed. Do you take me for a complete fool, my lord?’
‘Call me Brice, please. At least when no one else is around. All this lord business still sounds strange to me. I’ve been plain Brice or Mr Kinross all my life until now.’
‘But that would be … improper.’
She was still looking at him and bit her lip. He had a sudden urge to bite it himself, or nibble the soft flesh at any rate.
‘No,’ he said, ‘it would be a kindness.’
‘Hmm, perhaps I will then.’
He finished the last tress and pulled the comb through her hair from the crown of her head down past her nicely rounded derrière onto the jetty. ‘There, all done.’ He couldn’t resist picking a handful up and inhaling the flowery scent. ‘Mmm, lovely. What did you put on it?’
She pulled the hair gently out of his grasp. ‘Really, my … Brice, you shouldn’t do that. And it’s a mixture of heather and lavender soap which Flora made, if you must know.’
She was blushing and he realised for the first time that Elisabet had never done so even once when he
paid her compliments. She’d always taken them as her due and just thanked him prettily. It made him wonder whether his father had been right after all. Had Elisabet ever loved him? Cared about his compliments? Perhaps he just hadn’t understood this before. He shook himself mentally.
Forget Elisabet. She’s irrelevant. Concentrate on enjoying life, living for the moment. But it wasn’t easy. Still, he had to try so he pushed all thoughts of her away.
Marsaili was gathering up her things and he jumped off the jetty into the water to stand in front of her again. ‘Wait there,’ he said, ‘and I’ll fetch my drying cloth so I can escort you back to the house.’
‘It’s not necessary. I have Liath.’
‘Ah, but has he ever chased away a kelpie? You’ve no idea how he’d react to one.’
A gurgle of laughter escaped her and she shook her head at him. ‘You’re quite mad, you know. Either that, or you’re still drunk from last night.’
He laughed too. ‘Neither. Now stay put, that’s an order from your laird.’
‘Yes, master,’ she replied sarcastically, but when he returned from fetching his drying cloth, which he’d left on a stone further down the shore, she was still there.
He held out his arm and bowed, as if he was a gallant escorting his lady to a ball. She smiled, but shook her head. ‘Come Liath,’ she told the dog. ‘I’m not walking anywhere with this madman on my own.’
Liath obeyed, but only after Brice started walking.
‘Good dog,’ Brice said with a chuckle.
Colin Seton didn’t live in the big house. As factor, he had his own house in the township, although it was larger than any of the others with a stone flagged floor and proper furniture. That suited him fine. He barely noticed his surroundings in any case. His mind was always focused on the future, when he’d be the laird of Bailliebroch and in possession of a huge estate with suitable dwelling. The fact that there wasn’t much left of his former home didn’t daunt him – he’d soon have it rebuilt. He remembered every last detail of its architecture and had no doubt he’d be able to recreate it.
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