Sweet Home Highland Christmas
Page 5
Dunbar was poison for Freya and Ella, no matter how one looked at it.
“What if you were to speak honestly with Lady Dacre?” he suggested. “Perhaps she would give you time to find a more suitable husband, one you could care for and respect.”
Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head. He recalled seeing this same expression on Ella’s face when he jokingly asked her if she’d care for some cabbage with her porridge this morning.
“I’m years past such fanciful delusions. I’m set in my ways.”
“Twenty-two years of age,” he teased. “So old!”
“If fate turns its back on me and my cousin fails to appear, for whatever reason, and if, after substantial groveling, Lady Dacre grants me some time, where am I going to meet this suitable husband?” she asked, “It’s not like I’ll be leaving Torrishbrae, at the age of twenty-two or twenty-three, for a season of husband-hunting in London. And even if I were able to manage that—which I won’t—what man would want a bride who brings with her a five-year-old ‘daughter’ who is as unpredictable as a summer storm? And a father who relies on her living in the Highlands to help manage his affairs?”
A summer storm? Ella and Freya together were like the first warm breezes of spring after the bitter cold of winter. But Penn knew there was a great deal of truth in what she said. He had many friends, and he’d heard enough stories of their engagements and marriages to concede her point. Many men of rank and wealth maintained limited and superficial views of what they believed made for a good marriage partner. Wealth, a good family with a history of male offspring, and an uncomplicated personal history.
Giving up on him answering, Freya shrugged and smiled sadly.
“I’m resigned to what I must do.” She unlinked her arm and moved away. “The only purpose of having a man in my life would be to retain custody of Ella. Nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” he repeated, coming to stop in front of her. “What about companionship and friendship? Love and romance and passion? Don’t you think you deserve to experience the same breathless happiness that your sister experienced when she eloped with Fredrick Dacre? Don’t you want to have a child of your own? Don’t you wonder what it’s like to love a man?”
Penn didn’t know where this outpouring of emotion came from. His gaze fixed on her face. She was staring at him, her eyes wide. Her lips parted slightly, quick puffs of breath escaping.
At that moment, more than anything in the world, he wanted to kiss those lips. Dunbar be damned.
Chapter Five
This was not the time for confusion, Freya thought.
Her conversation with Gregory had continued during their ensuing time spent in the carriage, though she tried to focus her questions on his past and the career that appeared to match his personality perfectly.
She was fascinated with him. As a second son, he was exceptional in that he’d not wasted his life, like so many of his peers, on drinking and gambling. He’d made his own decisions, found a path to happiness, and carved out an independence that was so rare, considering his family’s rank and status.
The captain’s enthusiasm for his projects even drew the attention of Ella and Shona as they rumbled southward. The places he’d seen, the canals and bridges and roads his regiment had built, the adventures and obstacles he’d faced enthralled them.
Gregory Pennington was confusing her, however, with those stories of his life, with his kindness and his sweet words and his handsome face. He was muddying waters that had never been crystal clear to begin with.
Well, it couldn’t work, this . . . whatever it was between them. Attraction and foolishness.
A splash in the tub broke up Freya’s thoughts.
Ella, up to her armpits in the bath, was busily sailing a carved toy boat—bearing the princess—across the German Sea to the shores of Norway where she was about to do battle with a wicked colonel who was holding the prince in a tower. From the look of things, the wicked colonel had taken to the sea on a bar of soap for the epic engagement.
Freya soaked the wash towel in the warm water and draped it over the little commander’s shoulders. Shona was sitting in a chair on the far side of the hearth, stitching a seam on one of Ella’s gloves.
As she absently stirred the soapy water, Freya’s mind drifted back to her current situation. The outcome was as predictable as Ella’s drama. Gregory was the son of an earl, Lord Aytoun. She was a baron’s daughter. And a Highlander. Though Aytoun was not a duke, the family was extremely wealthy, powerful, and well-connected in England and Scotland. They traveled in the same society as the Dacres. Gregory’s brother, Viscount Greysteil, was a lord justice in Edinburgh and a war hero. Baronsford, their home in Scotland, was one of the grandest castles in the Borders. She’d even seen an etching of it in a book in her father’s library.
She was a fool, she chastised, to torment herself with hopes that would never be realized. Captain Pennington was too far out of her reach.
But at the same time, she sighed thinking of the moment when he’d almost kissed her while they were skating. She’d seen it in his eyes. The battle had been visible in his features, in the way he’d struggled to stop his hands from reaching for her. She’d felt it as certainly as the ice beneath their feet.
His words about passion and love had stirred a deeply buried need inside of her. Freya hadn’t known until then how starved she was for a simple kiss. For the lips of the man who made her mind and body catch fire when she was with him. For Gregory’s kiss.
She knew it would be a kiss that would change her life.
When they weren’t together, she thought of him. She relived the words he spoke. The sense of humor he maintained while dealing with Ella’s playful antics. The lingering looks he sent her.
Today, as the carriage bumped along, the imp sat beside him as the two worked with charcoal, drawing pictures of Freya. He was a surprisingly good artist. But she’d squirmed and blushed as he stared openly at her eyes and cheeks and lips, moving appraisingly downward over the bodice of her travel dress.
A splash of water yanked her from her reverie. Shona was standing beside the tub.
“I don’t want to get out,” Ella complained as the nurse tried to convince the child to come out of the warm bath and dress for bed. “The princess still needs to rescue the prince, who had been secretly taken to the Rajah’s cave. Five more minutes should do it.”
“You said that ten minutes ago,” Freya reminded her. “Up you go. Look at your wrinkled fingers. You’re already a prune.”
Ella studied her fingers. “Grandfather says cock-a-leekie soup’s not cock-a-leekie soup without the prunes. He says only a bloody Englishman would think so. Do you think so, Shona?”
“I think you need to watch your language, lassie. And don’t go saying things like that in front of the captain, a chloiseann tú? Do you hear?”
“Why? Is the captain a bloody Englishman, Fie?”
“He’s part English,” Freya said. “But Shona’s right. You need to stop repeating everything your grandfather says.”
As Shona lifted the child out and dried her, Freya placed another log on the fire. Adding hot water to the bath from a pitcher on the hearth, she quickly undressed and climbed into the tub herself.
“These are fine rooms the captain has taken for us all,” Shona said, wrapping Ella in the towel and standing her by the fire to stay warm. “Dougal was more than grateful that his lordship insisted on the two of us sleeping in the third bedroom.”
“You’re right about the captain’s kindness. He insisted on me and Ella taking this room, while he’s in the smaller bedchamber.”
This inn, overlooking Huntly’s market cross, was far more elegant than the places they’d stopped their past three nights on the road. The captain had taken the entire apartment on the upper floor where three bedchambers and a large sitting room were at their disposal.
“The captain even took a room for his driver and the groom.”
“So I understa
nd,” Freya responded, quickly washing her hair.
“Do you want help with that?” Shona asked, pulling a nightgown over Ella’s head. “This wee one is going right into that bed.”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, pouring water over her hair.
“I am not sleepy,” Ella complained.
“You will be as soon as you close your eyes,” Freya told her.
“But I saw a backgammon game on the shelf in the sitting room.”
“I’d wager there are games waiting for you when we arrive at Baronsford,” she said. “You need to get your sleep. We’ll be up early and on the road again.”
The shutters on the windows rattled with the wind, a reminder that even with no fresh snow, winter ruled the landscape.
“Will the captain’s family like me?” Ella asked, climbing onto the bed.
“I believe they’ll love you,” Freya said.
“So long as you don’t go calling them bloody Englishmen,” Shona added.
“Will they let me play games?”
“I think they will. But you’ll have to ask nicely, and be on your best behavior.”
The nursemaid tucked the child into the bed, and Freya smiled gratefully at her. “You should get some rest too, Shona.”
“I think I might just do that, mistress.” Bidding them both good night, she picked up her sewing and went out.
From where she sat in the tub, Freya had a clear view of the cherub’s face. Her little head lay on her arm. Her eyes struggled to stay open.
Freya thought about getting out, but the warm water and the heat from the fireplace felt too good to waste.
“Is Colonel Richard going to be there with us at Baronsford?” Ella asked.
“I believe so.”
When they stopped at Inverness two nights ago, after their skating stop, Dougal had made the rounds of the better inns. Still no sign of her cousin. She had no way of knowing if he was ahead of them or behind them.
“He’ll join us at Dundee,” Freya said, trying to sound both certain and happy about it. “He’ll accompany us to Baronsford from there.”
The child yawned. “That’s too bad.”
“I thought you wanted me to marry him.”
“Not anymore,” Ella whispered. “I’ve changed my mind again.”
“Have you?” Freya replied softly, sinking into the bath until the water came up to her chin. The image of Gregory Pennington’s face out on that frozen pond appeared to her. She’d change her mind too, she thought, if she had the chance.
“I’ve decided you should marry a good dancer and a good skater,” Ella said, closing her eyes. “Ask Captain Pennington. Or I can ask him for you. I know he’ll do it.”
* * *
Penn pushed open the shutter and peered out through the darkness. Occasional breaks in the clouds allowed the moon to shed its light over Huntly’s rooftops. Four days they’d been on the road and, in spite of having to make frequent stops for Ella, they were making excellent progress. The unpredictable Highland weather, though cold, had been cooperating, so far.
Tomorrow night they’d stop at Aberdeen, he thought, shuttering the window again and going over to the small fireplace. He had an old friend there, a former officer who’d served with him on the Peninsula and later in the Royal Engineers. John Simpson resigned his captain’s commission a year ago and was now married and advising on plans for road building and other projects in the coastal area. Penn had received many invitations from him, and he knew Simpson and his wife would be happy to put them up for the night.
Washing up and stripping out of his clothes, Penn lay down in the bed. Staring at the firelight flickering on the surfaces of the rafters overhead, he thought of Freya. He wondered if she noticed how relieved he was every time her queries about her cousin produced blank looks from innkeepers. There’d been no sign of Dunbar along the route thus far. Perhaps the stars had aligned and the scoundrel had actually married one heiress or another.
In truth, he had another reason for stopping off at his friend’s home in Aberdeen. Simpson’s last assignment had been at Fort William, where Dunbar’s regiment was posted. His friend was always one to keep in contact with his former colleagues. Perhaps he’d have more information about the colonel.
Freya’s marriage to her cousin was wrong. And Penn was prepared to do whatever was necessary to help her see the grave mistake she’d be making in going through with the ill-advised arrangement. He considered their arrival at Baronsford. Once they got there, he’d insist on speaking with Lady Dacre on Freya and Ella’s behalf. This urgency to marry was nonsense. Freya needed time to settle her future. His thoughts darkened. He hadn’t known the eldest son growing up. He was already an adult when Penn was still a child, but the word was that the new duke, haughty and narrow-minded, wasn’t much of an improvement over his late father. Still, Penn was ready to go to battle with them. He’d seek his brother Hugh’s assistance as to legal proceedings, if need be. Freya didn’t need to face these people alone.
The soft knock on the door caught him in the midst of his mental combat. The next sound had him jumping out of bed and pulling on his trousers and shirt. Someone was trying to come in.
Penn crossed the floor and yanked the door open. Outside, the intruder was jumping up, trying to reach the latch.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, looking down at the shivering little bundle.
“I knew you’d be awake,” Ella said, stepping back and motioning for to him to come with her. “I need your help.”
“With what?” he asked, buttoning his shirt. “Where’s your aunt?”
“That’s what I need help with.” She took his hand and started pulling him toward the door of their room.
“What’s wrong with her?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“She’s fallen asleep in the tub. And I am afraid if she stays there all night she’ll end up looking like one of those old apples we feed to the pigs.”
“That sounds quite serious.” He stopped outside of their bedchamber door. “Why don’t you awaken her?”
The little girl made a shocked face and shook her head from side to side. “No, I need you to do it.”
Penn hid a chuckle behind the pretense of a cough. Beyond this door, Freya was naked and asleep in a tub, and this little matchmaker was mature enough to know he’d be interested in it.
“You should go get Shona. She can awaken her mistress.”
Ella again shook her head from side to side, mouthing a big no. “Fie always tells me never to walk into Shona’s room when Dougal is there and the door is closed. It’s inap . . . inapppie . . .”
“Inappropriate?”
She nodded, pushing open the door a little. “You wake her.”
“I think your aunt might consider it inappropriate for me to go into her bedchamber and wake her up.” He took a step back. “No, I think you’re the best person for the job.”
As she bit her lip and stared up at him, Penn started worrying. The water Freya was lying in had to be cold. Was there enough wood in the fireplace? She definitely could catch a chill. He decided he should knock loudly and wake her up. As he raised his hand to do so, the girl stopped him.
“I’ll do it,” Ella announced. “But under one condition.”
He should have guessed this imp would have a secondary motive. “What?”
“I’ll wake her and come back if you’ll play a game of backgammon with me.”
He looked across the sitting room where she was pointing. A game box sat on a table by the fireplace.
“You know how to play?”
“Grandfather taught me.”
“I don’t know. We have a full day tomorrow.”
“I know it’s late and after your bedtime,” she responded. “Only one game.”
The possibility sprang to Penn’s mind that Freya wasn’t in any tub at all, but sound asleep in her bed. This entire thing could be the ploy of the diminutive strategist standing before him.
She crossed her arms, staring up at him. “Fie might not make it till tomorrow, if she sleeps in the tub all night.”
Penn had never found himself at a deadlock with a five-year-old. “My proposition is this: You go and awaken your aunt. If she makes a noise loud enough that I can hear her all the way out here, then I’ll tell you a story.”
“What kind of a story?”
“A good story that I guarantee you’ve never heard from your grandfather.”
She sent him a skeptical look. “I’ve heard lots and lots of stories. Thousands of them.”
“This one was told to me and my brother and sisters by a woman named Ohenewaa. She was like a grandmother to us, and she was from Africa.”
“Tell me the start of it.”
He couldn’t believe this lassie. She wasn’t about to be cheated.
“Lizard shows tortoise a hidden cave filled with yams.” He stopped. “Go awaken her.”
She ran into the bedchamber, leaving the door ajar. Not a moment later, Penn heard a splash and Freya’s loud gasp. Before he could formulate an image of what had just happened, Ella was back out, closing the door.
“Very well,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him to a settle close to the fire. “I want to hear the rest of it. But what’s a yam?”
Chapter Six
Jolted awake by Ella, Freya stood in the tub, looking dazedly after her escaping niece. She’d fallen asleep in the bath. When had she ever done that? Never, before tonight.