by Deborah Hale
Where was the harm in it? Claire asked herself as she tried not to lose herself in his beseeching gaze. Ewan truly seemed to want her company.
Why not indulge in a few of her old dreams? Pretend he had come to Strathandrew as her beau, instead of Tessa’s? Despite that meaningless kiss on the deck of the Marlet, there was no way she could hope to lure Ewan away from her sister. Nor did she want to, if Tessa truly cared for him. Indulging in a day or two of make-believe would take nothing away from Tessa, therefore it could not be disloyal.
“I suppose you know how difficult you are to refuse when you use that look on a woman?”
Ewan replied with a grin that was equally difficult to resist. “I practice it in the mirror every morning while I shave.”
“Indeed?” Something strange and intoxicating bubbled inside Claire. For the first time in her life, she was flirting with a man … and enjoying it. “How very diligent of you.”
“So it is.” He was flirting back—the rogue! No doubt because he knew neither of them meant to take it seriously. “Surely a captain of industry like yerself will want to reward diligence?”
“And enterprise.” Claire postponed her inevitable answer by popping another plump queenie into her mouth. “Very well, then. If the weather is fine, I’ll come. Even your considerable arts of persuasion could not induce me to roam about Highland hills in the rain.”
“It’s a bargain, then!” He looked so vastly pleased, Claire could not help feeling flattered. “I’ll ask Rosie to pack us up a lunch, and tell Fergus we’d like a pony to carry it,” he added.
“Dear me! How enormous a lunch are you planning to take, that we’ll need a pony to haul it?”
“Tramping the hills is hungry work.” Ewan finished off the last of his scallops and washed them down with a drink of wine. “We’ll want a rug to sit on while we eat. And in case ye get tired, ye can always ride on the way back.”
“What makes you so certain I’ll get tired?” It was the sort of question to which she would have demanded an answer in their youth. Now Claire asked out of amusement rather than indignation. “Have you done much tramping the hills in America these past ten years? Why, I may need to hoist you over the pony’s back to fetch you home tomorrow.”
“So ye might, lass.” Ewan raised his glass to her, then drained it.
“Whereabouts are you planning to take me?” she asked, as the maid replaced her empty plate with a delectable looking confection of whipped cream, raspberries and toasted oats.
“Someplace special,” was all Ewan would tell her before he fell upon his saucer of trifle and devoured every last morsel.
He did not add any blatant flattery about a special place for special company, but she sensed he meant it. Hard as she tried, she could not help feeling flattered.
Until the moment Claire had asked him where he meant to take her, he’d had a different destination in mind. He’d meant to delay a visit to Linn Riada until Tessa could accompany him. Just then, Ewan knew he could not wait another day. Nor could he escape the conviction that Claire would appreciate the place more than her sister.
Ewan set down his pudding spoon with a sigh of keen anticipation richly rewarded. Only the thought of how Mrs. Arbuthnot might gloat over such crude manners kept him from licking his saucer clean of his favorite cranachan pudding.
“A splendid meal!” Claire touched her lips with her napkin, then set it beside her own well-scraped saucer. She turned to the serving maid. “Do convey our compliments to Mrs. McMurdo.”
The lass gave a silent, smiling nod as she collected the dishes.
“Having plates come back to the scullery empty is the best compliment ye can give Rosie,” said Ewan.
How well he remembered the cook anxiously watching dishes return below stairs—exulting over the empty ones and taking barely touched plates as a grievous insult to her skill and effort. Sometimes he had waylaid serving staff on the back stairs and gobbled up the leftover food on several plates just to spare Rosie’s feelings.
Claire rose from her seat. “I’ll retire so you can enjoy your brandy. Feel free to make use of the billiard room.”
She motioned to a set of elaborately carved double doors behind him. “It’s just through there.”
Ewan got to his feet. “I know where it is.”
“You do?”
“Aye. In the old days, I used to catch the odd glimpse through the windows of his lairdship and guests playing.”
Since he could fish and shoot better than any of the gentleman, billiards had represented a skill that set them apart from him. Once he’d begun to make his fortune, he had set to work mastering it.
“I beg your pardon.” Claire winced. “I should have asked if you play.”
Perhaps. But he liked that she’d assumed he could. “Oh, aye. I’m good, too.”
Claire’s chagrin evaporated in a gust of laughter, as if she understood what that signified, and sympathized. “A pity my father isn’t here so you could challenge him to a game.”
She did understand.
“Why don’t ye take his place, then?”
“Me? You must be joking!”
“Why not? I can’t very well play without an opponent.”
That made her stop and think. “I suppose not, but I’d be no good to you. I haven’t the least notion how to play.”
“I could teach ye.” He used the tone and look that had persuaded her to come walking with him.
For a moment she seemed almost ready to agree. Then she drew back, shaking her head. “Billiards is a man’s game.”
“Aye. So’s running one of the biggest shipbuilding firms in the country. Ye mastered that quick enough, and I’ll bet ye didn’t have as good a teacher as me.”
Claire’s perpetually guarded look relaxed and her fine, clear eyes sparkled. “Your modesty is touching!”
How beautiful she looked! And how much he wanted to make her laugh again. “Modesty’s an overrated virtue.”
As she chuckled at his quip, Ewan knew how Rosie McMurdo must feel when a whole tray of plates arrived back in the scullery, picked clean.
“Come on, now.” He pressed his advantage. “It’s not like tossing the caber. There’s nothing about billiards that should give a man an advantage over a woman. It’s all in the precision of yer shots and yer strategy.”
Claire crossed her arms and looked at him with narrowed eyes.
For a moment Ewan feared she might guess … guess what?
“Are you doing this just to shock poor Mrs. Arbuthnot?” she asked.
“Of course not. That would just be a lucky by-blow.”
“Very well, then.” Claire circled the table to join him. “But you’ll find no honor in besting a poor novice.”
He opened one of the billiard room doors and held it for her to enter. “I don’t reckon ye’re going to stay a novice very long.”
“I don’t intend to.” She gave a defiant little toss of her head and Ewan found his fingers itching to nestle in the fine, silken strands of her hair.
For days, he’d been plagued by these feelings for her, as intense as they were baffling. First he had tried to dismiss them. Then he had tried to explain them. Both to no avail.
Now Ewan wondered if he ought to explore them to find out how deep they ran.
Before Tessa arrived.
Chapter Thirteen
“That’s one of the things I love about the Highlands,” said Ewan the next morning, as he and Claire led a well-laden pony up into the hills. “If ye don’t like the weather, ye haven’t got to wait long for it to change!”
“It works in reverse, too.” Claire cast a dubious glance at the serene blue sky. “Do you suppose the fine weather will last until we get back?”
“I reckon it might.” Ewan sucked in a deep breath of fresh Argyll air. “There’s not much of a wind to blow clouds our way. Like my old Gran Cameron used to say, God rest her soul, ‘we might as well enjoy the sunshine, for we won’t keep the rain away by fret
ting about it.’ ”
“A wise woman, your grandmother.” Claire resolved to take her advice … though not about the weather. She must soak up the sparkling warmth of her stolen time with Ewan and not spoil it by fretting about the future. “She used to keep house at Strathandrew, didn’t she?”
Ewan nodded. “That was how I got into service here.”
“I don’t remember her all that well.” Claire vaguely recalled a pair of wide-set gray eyes, much like Ewan’s. “Just being very sorry when I heard she’d passed away and that we would be getting a new housekeeper.”
“I remember Gran telling me yer ma hired her and Rosie.” Ewan patted the pony’s neck.
Perhaps that was why old Mrs. Cameron had paid special attention to her when all the other servants made such a fuss over Tessa.
Ewan caught her gaze with his. “So what did ye think of our billiards game last night? It’s not that hard once ye catch on, is it?”
“Most diverting,” said Claire. “With enough practice, I might give you some real competition one of these days.”
What she had enjoyed, more than the game itself, was the instruction she’d received from Ewan. When he’d wrapped his arms around her to demonstrate the proper way to hold a cue, she had savored his touch to the very marrow of her bones. Only by biting on her lip had she been able to stifle a sigh of delight.
Now she glanced away, so he would not see that delight reflected in her present gaze.
He must not have noticed, for he sounded casually cheerful when he asked, “Does that mean ye’ll play me again tonight?”
“Why not?” Claire strove to sound equally casual. “With only the two of us here, it doesn’t make much sense to part company after dinner.”
How much longer would the two of them remain alone? Claire pushed that foreboding thought to the back of her mind and locked it in a dark cupboard, along with her fear of the heartache she would suffer once Tessa reclaimed her beau.
“I have a piece of advice,” said Ewan, “that should help yer game.”
Something in his tone warned Claire it was likely to be an impudent suggestion.
“Indeed?” She rallied, welcoming the distraction from her locked-up worries. “And what might that be?”
“Don’t wear a corset.” Suppressed laughter bubbled beneath his audacious suggestion. “It makes it too hard for ye to bend over the table to make yer shot.”
Perhaps thinking she was too shocked to reply, he rattled on. “It’s only me to see ye, anyway, and I think ye’ve got a fine figure without squeezing it all out of shape. Ye’re not wearing a corset now, are ye?”
“Ewan!” A furious blush tingled in Claire’s cheeks. “That is not a proper question for a gentleman to ask a lady!”
“Aye, well, I’m no gentleman, am I? So confess, lass. Yer secret’s safe with me.”
“As it happens, I am quite unencumbered at the moment.” It was hard enough to catch her breath while tramping through the hills without being stifled by a corset!
“There, ye see?” Ewan looked her over with obvious admiration. “No corset and ye look as bonny as I’ve ever seen ye.”
“In this?” Claire glanced down at her sturdy tweed skirt and waistcoat and the billowing sleeves of her old-fashioned blouse. “You must be daft!”
“I am not! Now I’ll admit I’m no authority on ladies’ fashion. I only know what I like. Tweed suits ye better than all that fussy silk and lace some lasses get themselves up in.”
Claire wasn’t certain that reflected well on her femininity, but she had to admit she enjoyed the ease of movement this outfit afforded her. “Very well, then. I promise to dispense with my corsets … if you will wear your kilt to dinner.”
He looked vastly attractive in the one he was wearing now, with the black leather gillie vest over a loose shirt. The sight of him, as much as the steep slope they were climbing, made Claire gasp for breath.
Ewan laughed. “Ye’ve got yerself a bargain.”
For a while they saved their breath for walking, until they were out of sight of the house and high on a ridge with a magnificent view of the loch.
“Let’s rest here awhile.” Ewan lifted a brown jug from the pony’s pack. He pulled out the wooden stopper and passed the jug to Claire.
She gave it a suspicious sniff. “Whiskey?”
That was the last thing she needed.
Ewan shook his head. “Cider. Some of Rosie’s best.”
He spread their picnic rug upon the heath. When Claire had settled herself on it, he sat down beside her.
She took a deep drink from the cider jug, then handed it back to him. “This place is beautiful. No wonder you’ve longed for it.”
A familiar but intriguing sight caught her eye. She pointed toward the ruin of an ancient castle on a small island at the far end of the lake. “Do you know anything about that place? Father always forbade Tessa and I to go near it when we went rowing in the loch.”
“Eilean Tioran? Aye.” Ewan set the cider jug down after he’d had a drink. “They say it was the stronghold of a branch of the Cameron clan. No enemy ever successfully attacked the castle by water. According to one old song, a sea serpent kept guard out in the loch, smashing the boats of any foe who tried to sail against the Camerons.”
The earnest tone in which he recounted this preposterous tale warned Claire not to laugh.
“Red Kenneth Cameron fought at Stirling Bridge and again under Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn.” Ewan gazed toward the island castle, his eyes shining with pride. “Murdo Cameron fell at Flodden Field, and Alec the Martyr was executed after Kilcrankie. They were bold warriors.”
And he, the descendent of bold warriors, lairds of a serpent-guarded castle, had been reduced to a servant of foreign masters on the land they’d once ruled. Little wonder he’d had a chip on his shoulder.
“What became of the Camerons and their castle?” she whispered.
“Treachery.” Ewan’s hand balled into a fist and his chiseled jaw tensed. “We were betrayed by the McCrimons. The daughter of their chief was betrothed to Angus the Fair. All her family came to the wedding feast at Eilean Tioran, and while they were making merry, one of the McCrimons threw open the sea gate and let in English soldiers.”
“You must hate the English.”
“When I was a lad, I wanted an easy target to pin all my troubles on. But once I got to America, I started reading some history whenever I had a spare minute. I found out it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as all that. There were plenty of times through the centuries when we Scots were worse enemies to ourselves than anyone else could have been.”
Could that be said of her, too? Claire wondered, as she gazed out at the ancient Cameron stronghold, rising from the mist.
“Highlander against Lowlander,” Ewan mused, shaking his head. “Clan against clan. The kirk all splintered into groups killing each other in the name of God. The few times we’ve truly come together as a nation, no one could stand against us.”
“Is Eilean Tioran what you brought me to see?” Claire asked.
“Eh?” Ewan stalled, as if he had temporarily forgotten her. “The castle? No. It was you who pointed that out. The place I’m taking ye is still a ways ahead. I reckon we’d better be off if we’re going to get there and back before dinnertime.”
He got to his feet, then held out his hand to hoist her up. The strength and warmth of his grip sent a bittersweet rush of longing through her—for more intimate touches from him. How she wished she could go back to that night on the deck of the Marlet and fold herself into his embrace once more.
“Are ye all right, Claire?” His voice held a tender note of concern. “Ye look sort of dreamy-eyed.”
“I was just thinking about that romantic old castle and all the history it’s seen.”
Her excuse was true in part. Mixed up with all her thoughts about Ewan had been one about the abandoned castle. Like this stolen time with him, Eilean Tioran was a romantic dream from the past that could
never be anything but a fantasy.
“Are ye sure that’s all?” Ewan did not sound convinced.
“Of course.” Claire strove to look and sound like the “sensible sort of person” her stepmother had commended her for being. “What else could it be?”
She hoped he would never guess.
What else could have made Claire Talbot look like that?
For one delirious moment, Ewan had thought she’d fixed him with the soft, brooding gaze a woman reserved for her muirneach … her beloved. And in that instant, a strange thing had happened to his own vision.
Sometimes, if a stag was shot away up in the hills, it would be flung across the pony’s back to be brought home. Then it was the gillie’s job to throw his coat over the pony’s head, to keep it from taking a fright. Now, Ewan thought he knew how a pony must feel when that blinding coat fell away at last, and he could see again.
What he saw, after being blind to it for too long, was that he had begun to fall in love with his old adversary.
How could it be, though? What kind of fickle creature was he, to transfer the allegiance of his heart in a matter of days from the one who had held it for over a dozen years? And how could he be so daft as to vest his love in the one woman who could never return it?
Claire’s voice, breathless and a trifle sharp, penetrated his bemusement. “I hope whatever you have to show me will be worth the exertion.”
He glanced over to see her clinging to one of the straps that secured the pony’s pack. Her face was flushed and shiny, and several strands of her hair had fallen loose around her face. She looked almost as if she had been caught in the prelude of lovemaking.
Images of the two of them enjoying a lusty tumble in the heather sent a rush of heat through his loins and stirred the pleats of his kilt.
It took all his will to keep his voice from breaking when he answered her. “It will be, I promise ye. And all the better for the challenge of getting to it. I reckon I don’t have to tell you that nothing worthwhile ever came easy.”
His words seemed to stir something in her, for her blue-gray eyes flashed with determination that Ewan found altogether provocative. “You’re right, of course. Striving makes the eventual reward all the sweeter.”