Betting the Scot

by Jennifer Trethewey

  “But he said it was his honor to marry me.”

  “I hesitate calling Declan’s character into question, but gambling for your hand was not an honorable thing to do. In addition, he is a soldier by trade, a man of blood. A good woman like you, a woman of faith and integrity, would not be well-matched with such a man. No. I cannot in good conscience recommend you entertain his attentions.” The vicar took a deep breath. “At least, not at this time.”

  His assessment of Declan’s character rang true, and perhaps her attraction to Declan, her desire to be near him, had stemmed from gratitude. Moreover, the vicar confirmed her suspicion that Declan’s desire to marry her was fueled by his promise to her brother, now a matter of honor. As lighthearted as she had been when the vicar absolved her a minute ago, she was doubly downhearted to hear his reproof. She almost regretted having consulted him.

  “Thank you for your wise counsel. I will consider your advice carefully.”

  Declan sat next to her at supper. It saved her from having to meet his eyes—those eyes that seemed to look inside her, read her, know her—but not from the physical reaction his proximity had on her body. Occasionally, his arm would brush against hers. Wherever they touched, that spot on her body would burn white hot. She hoped the effect wasn’t apparent on her face. The vicar sat directly across the table, his eyes darting up and down from his plate to Declan to her and down again. Her stomach twisted into a knot. The lamb on her plate smelled delicious, but she couldn’t eat a bite.

  Declan leaned toward her, his breath warm on her cheek. “Are you all right, lass? You havenae touched your supper.”

  Vicar James paused mid-bite, his crystal blue gaze flicking from Declan to Caya.

  She gave her head a slight shake. “I’m fine.” She collected her fork and shifted the potatoes around on her plate.

  The vicar smiled across the table and began to chew again.

  Two people whose opinions she respected—Laird John and Vicar James—opposed Declan’s advances. She should follow the advice of these two wise men. Yet, she couldn’t shake her attachment to the way Declan smiled at her, the way he looked at her, the way he said her name.

  “I propose a toast to the newest member of our family,” Laird John said, lifting his glass. “Welcome, Caya. We are, every one of us, pleased you’ve come to stay. We hope you will find happiness here at Balforss.”

  The others at the table raised their wineglasses and toasted with a strange word that sounded like slan-jeh. Gaelic, she thought, so like the Kernewek, and she was reminded of her home near the shores of Penzance, a world away from this place.

  “Thank you, Laird John. Thank you, everyone. I hope what skills I have might be worthy of your kindness and generosity.” She looked to Flora. “I want to contribute, to be of value to you and Balforss.”

  Flora reached out and covered her hand with hers. “Dinnae fash, dear.”

  “I have an idea.”

  Everyone turned to Vicar James, who had until this moment remained rather quiet since blessing the food. “I have an excellent idea. That is, if Miss Pendarvis is agreeable and you provide your consent, Laird John.”

  “Please continue,” Laird John said and tipped his head in her direction as confirmation.

  “Miss Pendarvis, I wonder if you might lend your beautiful voice to the church. I think ours would benefit from practiced voices. Many churches are forming choirs these days. You are just the person to help organize one.”

  All eyes shifted from James to her.

  Lucy added an enthusiastic endorsement. “You have a glorious voice. You’d be perfect.”

  Almost simultaneously, Laird John and Flora said, “What a wonderful idea.”

  A choir? She loved to sing, but to direct a choir? “I’m not sure…”

  “Do say yes,” Lucy insisted. “I’m no songbird, as Alex loves to point out, but I’ll join the choir. And Haddie has a pretty voice. I’m sure she’d like to take part.”

  A choice. She was being given another choice. Yes or no.

  Declan turned to her and said in his quiet, silky burr, “I ken you can do it, lass, and they’ll love you for it.”

  Caya’s chest filled with all the air in the room. “Yes,” she said and exhaled a laugh. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” Her cheeks burned when her acceptance met with applause and cheers. She smiled her thanks to Vicar James. Such a kind man to consider her in this way.

  Before the applause died down, Flora patted her hand and said, “There now, you see? You’ve found your place. You do Balforss great honor taking on such an endeavor.”

  Her appetite returned with a vengeance. She devoured everything on her plate. When dessert was served—a raisin pudding soaked in treacle and drenched with custard cream—she all but licked her bowl clean.

  The wine went to her head, and she forgot she wasn’t supposed to encourage Declan. When he shoveled his last spoonful of pudding into his mouth and made a satisfied mmm sound, she giggled like a girl.

  Vicar James cleared his throat convulsively and winked. She sobered and nodded an acknowledgment. He asked, “Shall I come tomorrow afternoon, and we can discuss plans for the choir?”

  She looked to Flora.

  “Four o’clock,” Flora said.

  Shortly after the meal ended, the diners gathered in the entry hall to say goodbye to the vicar. He thanked Flora and John, then turned to her. “I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Pendarvis. Good night.” He spoke low, as if he was telling her something personal, something private, flattering her with his full attention. Then he placed his hat on his head and left.

  Once the door closed, Declan draped a cloak on her shoulders. “Alex and Lucy have invited us to walk with them in the garden. Will you come?”

  All gaiety drained from her body. What she was obliged to do next might not please Declan Sinclair, but she couldn’t dodge him forever. Some decisions would be easy, like the one she’d made about the choir. Others, like whether to receive Declan’s attentions, would be much, much harder. Yet, that was what it was like to make one’s own life choices, was it not?

  …

  “I ken you’ll be warm enough. It’s a fine night.” Declan adjusted the cloak around Caya’s narrow shoulders. Without thinking, he slipped a hand under her long tail of yellow hair and freed it from the neck of the cloak. Her hair was soft and sleek like the pelt of a seal.

  Caya whirled around. “You mustn’t do that.”

  “Sorry.”

  She was sensitive again. Every turn of her head, every flick of her eyes, every twitch of her lips cried, “Stay back.” But he couldn’t, because every inch of his skin demanded he be near to her. She’d been changeable all day. Cool at kirk. Warm in the new house. Quiet at dinner. Giddy during dessert. Now, she was troubled again. What made her mood so unpredictable?

  Ah, well. At least she wasn’t curtsying. That was an improvement.

  They all four stepped out into the night air, damp and threatening rain. Rain would be good, but not until after their walk. Declan hoped the troublemaker in heaven would hold his wheesht one more hour.

  One of the grooms, an orphan named Peter whom Alex had rescued some years ago, finished lighting the torches surrounding the garden. Alex mussed the lad’s hair and sent him off to bed. Peter had endeared himself to everyone at Balforss, including Declan. No doubt Caya would come to like him as well.

  Moths flitted dangerously close to the flames, and pleasant nighttime sounds floated on the air. Their walk took on a figure-eight pattern around the rectangular kitchen garden bisected into two squares by one center path. Auntie Flora had planted herbs as both a decorative border and a deterrent. Bugs, worms, and flies didn’t care for basil, borate, and calendula. His mother had taught him that. His mother. Fiona Sinclair. He wished she’d lived long enough to meet Caya. She would have liked the lass. Everyone did.

  Several yards ahead, Alex and Lucy walked side by side at a lazy pace, their arms wrapped around the other’s waist, linked, s
ynced, and swaying. He yearned for that kind of familiar contact with Caya. To know the slight weight of her relaxed against his side. His hand on her slim back. Her head resting on his shoulder. His face buried in her hair. His lips on her—bloody hell. He had to stop imagining her in that way before he embarrassed himself.

  They completed two silent circuits around the garden. Still, Caya remained distant. He clasped his hands behind his back and sighed. “Why do you shy from me? Have I done something wrong?”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  He stopped walking and tugged on Caya’s cloak to get her to face him. She turned, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “You dinnae want me, then?”

  “I can’t.”

  Her words practically shattered him. “You…you want someone else? Someone better?”

  She stepped closer and turned her face up to his, the torchlight shining in her eyes. “No, it’s not that. Truly.”

  “What, then?”

  Even though she was breaking his heart, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to gather her into his arms and run away with her, keep her until she understood that they were meant to be together. He was just about to reach for her when she spoke again.

  “Aren’t you concerned that my feelings for you might only be ones of gratitude?”

  “Gratitude?” He shook his head, puzzled by the word. What did gratitude have to do with marrying the lass?

  “I’m grateful to you for bringing me to Balforss. I need to be certain that what I feel is real affection and not obligation.”

  “I dinnae want your gratitude. I want your hand.”

  “But the vicar says—”

  “What? You told the vicar about us? About Jack and what happened?” He felt exposed, as though she’d shared his secret. It was one thing for his family to know the details of his life. But James Oswald was not family. Declan didn’t even know if he liked the man.

  “I spoke to the vicar because I needed counsel.”

  His heart banged a wild tattoo inside his chest. She seemed perfectly calm, whereas he thought he might fly apart into a million pieces. “And what did he say?” He could guess what the God-botherer said, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  “Keep your voice down. Alex and Lucy will hear.”

  He answered with something akin to a growl.

  “He advised me to wait.” She lowered her eyelids and turned her chin away.

  “Did he now?” So angry he could no longer stand still, he paced back and forth on the narrow path.

  “Yes. And I think it’s sound advice.”

  “Oh, aye? And did he say how long you must wait?” There was a nasty edge in his voice. He couldn’t help it. He was frustrated. Thwarted by a bloody priest. If the bampot weren’t a clergyman, he’d go thump him right now.

  A flicker of lightning illuminated Caya in blue light for a second, making her look like a life-size porcelain doll. Thunder made an ominous roar. The storm was near.

  “Everything all right, man?” Alex asked.

  “Oh, aye,” he said.

  Alex and Lucy squeezed past them and continued walking.

  Caya huffed. “Your uncle asked us to wait as well. Why are you so angry?”

  “I’d like the vicar to keep his nose out of my business.”

  “It’s my business, too, is it not?”

  “He doesnae know you like I do,” he insisted. Why was she talking this nonsense? “You’re mine.”

  “Declan, you can’t bully me into marrying you, and you can’t just disregard formalities like courting.”

  “Courting? Why must I court you? You already know we’re to be married.”

  “That’s what I mean. How can you be so certain we should—I mean, aren’t you concerned that your reason for marrying me is entirely owing to your sense of honor?”

  “You’d reject me for being honorable?” What the bloody hell was she talking about?

  “I’m not rejecting you,” she said. “I’m asking you to be patient.”

  Her voice sounded bruised. He had done the one thing he promised himself he’d never do—hurt her. He was instantly remorseful. “I’m sorry.” Another flash of lightning. Declan saw the pain in her expression. Oh Jesus. “Forgive me. Please.”

  Her head wobbled, a half nod, half shake. Did she mean yes, no, maybe?

  Then…she curtsied.

  Damn.

  He bobbed his head like a numpty. When she took a step toward the house, he blurted, “Will you not forgive me, Caya?”

  She paused for a moment as if about to say something, but the heavens opened up and released a punishing rain. Lucy broke away from Alex and linked arms with Caya, and the two ran toward the house, skirts aflutter.

  Alex approached him from behind and shouted over another clap of thunder. “I take it things didnae go so well.”

  Declan spun around, fists clenched, his belly on fire. He shouted back through the pelting rain. “Did you ken that ferret-faced dog-collar told Caya not to see me?”

  “James the Vicar? Why?”

  “I dinnae ken for certain,” he said, blinking away the drops collecting in his eyelashes. “But I have a good idea why.”

  Chapter Six

  The next afternoon, a vague sense of dread gripped Caya as the hour for the vicar’s arrival approached. Though it was unfair, she laid the blame for her altercation with Declan on Vicar James. Per his advice, she had discouraged Declan’s attentions, or at least postponed them. A risky move. If Declan became impatient, he could lose interest in her altogether, and her one chance of having her own house would vanish. And then where would she be?

  The answer: she would be without a house, without children, and…without Declan. That last bit worried her overly much. She and Declan had parted on shaky terms last night. His angry reaction had startled her. It did not please her that he had a hot temper. Still, when he asked for forgiveness, she should have given it. It had been mean of her not to forgive him, and it had left a sour taste in her mouth.

  Vicar James arrived at precisely four o’clock.

  “Good afternoon.” She bobbed a curtsy and welcomed him into the house.

  He swept his hat off and bowed. “It is indeed a most excellent afternoon.”

  The vicar’s broad smile seemed to make the whole entry hall glow with his presence. Again, she saw the vicar for what he was, a kind and gentle man who cared for the welfare of every member of his congregation. How could she begrudge his counsel? Even though the vicar’s advice had felt harsh, he had meant to protect her and Declan, not punish them. She would do well to remember that.

  “Lady Sinclair thought we might take refreshments in her parlor,” she said, indicating the grand center staircase. “Just this way.”

  Vicar James cleared his throat. “Em, I hope I didn’t upset you with our talk last evening,” he said.

  “I appreciated the time you took to listen.”

  Though not as tall as the Sinclair men, he still towered over her in his clean, well-tailored coat and neatly tied stock—no doubt a reflection of his clean and blameless lifestyle. She smiled to herself. Declan’s stock was always untidy.

  “Did you think about what I said regarding Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Yes. I took your advice and asked him to…to wait.”

  The vicar smiled down on her with eyes as kind as God’s own. “Good.” He was quick to add, “I mean, I think that’s for the best.”

  “Of course.” She smiled back at the vicar. She had been wrong to blame him for her quarrel with Declan. How could she have doubted a clergyman? Vicar James’s intentions had been true and his judgment sound.

  Between savory scones, plates of ham and cheese, and Mrs. Swenson’s heavenly treats, Vicar James and the ladies of Balforss exchanged comments on the weather, plans for repairs to the church’s crumbling north transept, and speculation as to whether Mrs. Ross would give birth to a third set of twins this fall.

  Caya remained quiet, as she could contribute litt
le to the discussion. Vicar James favored her with frequent glances. Conversation eventually came around to the purpose of their meeting, the choir. All at once, everyone had suggestions based on their favorite hymns. Her head spun with the possibilities.

  “Does the church have an organ?” she asked.

  “Alas, no. Do you play, Miss Pendarvis?”

  “A little. My mother taught me. We had a pianoforte.” She didn’t mention that she had sold the instrument months ago in order for her and Jack to eat.

  The vicar produced a hymnal, the church’s only hymnal, and moved his chair next to her so they could page through the book together. She didn’t mind being close to his person, big and solid and serene. And he smelled like…well, like church.

  Flora and Lucy seemed to enjoy the vicar’s company as well. He didn’t talk about himself like many men did. He laughed easily at Lucy’s stories about Jemma, dispensed heartfelt compliments on Flora’s home and family, and offered generous words of encouragement to Caya when she expressed doubt about her abilities.

  “You mustn’t worry at all,” he said. “People will be delighted to take part, and I will be there with you.” He punctuated his promise with, “Always.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “Which reminds me, we haven’t discussed the best time for practice.”

  “Have another scone.” Flora held out the tray of sweets.

  “Yes, thank you.” He selected one with red currants and icing and washed it down with a gulp of tea. He coughed. “Will Saturdays work for you, Miss Pendarvis?”

  “Of course.” She smiled politely. Sunday after church was her preference. But, no doubt the vicar knew what was best.

  He removed his handkerchief and dabbed at his brow, which was odd because the room was rather cool.

  “It’s decided,” he said. “Saturday afternoon from one to three. I’ll post a notice on the church board and make an announcement this Sunday. We’ll begin the Saturday after next. I’m pleased we are in agreement.” He stood. “Lady Sinclair, Mrs. Sinclair, Miss Pendarvis.” He bowed to each. “Thank you for your hospitality. Always a pleasure.”