by Madelyn Hill
This gesture, though, did little to soothe her nerves. Nay, they stretched taut and brittle. How could one forgive his harsh behavior, even if Laird Maclean allowed a moment of kindness to emerge?
With a sweep of his arm, he motioned her to a bench. Despite the temperature, Vivian felt calm or at least hoped she presented a calm façade as she laced her fingers and rested them in her lap. “Aye?”
He scowled at her. “You wanted fresh air, here it is.” He seemed pleased with himself, as a ghost of a smile turned his lips upward. When the smile reached his startling eyes, then she’d believe him.
“’Tis not fresh air alone, m’laird. I want to leave. I want to go home.” I want my father back and all the security that he could offer. She waved her hand toward the sea. “The water is calm.”
Ignoring the hitch in her voice, Vivian tried to maintain eye contact with her warden. The rigid line of his shoulders and the stiffness of his back gave little indication that he’d heard her or would relent.
He gave a seemingly careless shrug of his shoulders. “You can’t leave.”
Standing, she walked as close to him as she felt was safe. “And you’ll be giving me a good reason?”
Raking a hand through his hair, he released his breath. A white plume billowed from his broad mouth. The set of his jaw read threatening, sinking her expectations as the soaring walls of the courtyard began to close in, making her want to run from the potentially serene haven.
He pointed toward the cliffs with a shaking finger, his voice a low rumble scratching over the distant thunder of the waves. “Have you not seen the current? A boat would be swallowed with a wee thrashing.” He reached for her and grasped her arms, holding them to her sides, his gaze probing hers. “You may not go near the water. Too many have died. I can’t allow you to be next.”
She glanced at his hands, surprised as warmth tingled where his touch met her. Regardless, she was hard pressed to believe his concern for her safety. Despite the unexpected pleasure of his touch, she bravely replied, “Kindly remove your hands from me, m’laird.”
Slowly, he lowered his arms. “You must obey me,” he demanded. “I don’t have enough staff to keep you out of trouble.”
“And what am I then? A bairn in need of a nursemaid?” The audacity of the man. Why, she was almost to her majority.
He glared at her.
“I can fend for myself. And when I arrive on shore, I’ll contact my father’s solicitor.”
The tight line of his stubbled jaw relaxed. “Ah, I see. And just how do you expect to survive the voyage? Do you no recall how treacherous the sea is?”
She gasped. How could she forget? Her life had been swept away with one stalwart thrust of water. Och, her heart hurt.
She glared at Laird Maclean. His haughty expression incensed her as much as his insensitive words festered in her heart. How dare he treat her with such arrogance?
She tipped up her chin and waited, hoping her resolve changed his mind.
“Aye,” he said with a much too agreeable tone, “you’ll be leaving as soon as the sea settles. Back to Perth, back to your father’s estate in the east.”
“Aye. I’m certain the weather will turn and I’ll be able to travel soon.” Her words tempted God as the sky turned a shadowy gray and rain drizzled downward.
He glanced up and smirked. “Your father has left a codicil, to be sure. A man such as himself with an estate and daughter to think of.”
Her stomach pitched as she thought of her father’s will. Dear God, would her father include Donal in the will as well?
“What has you worried so?” He narrowed his gaze as he inspected her. “Are you betrothed?”
She shuddered at his loud voice but still managed to shake her head.
Cocking his head toward the entrance of the courtyard, he allowed her to lead the way back into the castle.
Her hands shook as she tried to hide them in her skirt. Aye, her father had arranged a betrothal.
But she’d see herself dead before she’d honor it.
“I warned you, didn’t I?” Nessa briskly shook Vivian’s mantle as they entered the bedchamber. Droplets of water flew and splattered them both. “’Tisn’t like you to be defying anyone, much less a brooding laird who holds your future in his hands.”
Vivian wiped water from her face. “And what do you expect of me? Stay prisoner on this tiny island?” Looking around the room, she shuddered at the bleak nature of the evil tapestry and gargoyles staring from the walls.
Nessa set the cape aside. “Not a peep out of you for over twenty years and there you go getting yourself into more trouble than you ken what to do with.”
“I never had reason to complain before. This castle is. . .is unlivable.” She crossed her arms tightly before her to ward off the damp chill in the air.
“Not any different than Westington, I’d wager.” The older woman clutched her hand over her mouth, apparently realizing what she just said.
Anger spiked as she crossed over to Nessa. “And what do you mean by that, Nessa Farley?”
“’Tis sorry I am to even mention it.” A crimson hue flushed her face and neck. Then she thrust a bold chin forward. “Your father was a grand man, but too protective, ‘tis as simple as that.”
“He wanted to protect me,” she protested weakly as her stomach clenched at the truth of her maid’s words.
Clucking, Nessa patted her shoulder. “There, there, lass. ‘Tisn’t your fault. But your father was frightened to let you go and mayhap follow your mother’s ways.”
No. No, it wasn’t true. But just as she thought it, she understood that she’d led a sheltered life. One filled with love, of that she was certain. Aye, her father had loved her. And she kenned he worried about her, but did he truly feel she’d leave like her mother? Why would she do such a thing when she loved Westington and working with her father?
She sat and her maid began brushing her hair.
“’Tis a tangled mess,” Nessa complained.
Vivian muttered agreement, but she wasn’t actually listening to Nessa’s prattling. Her thoughts still rested on Ellen Rose Stuart. That she’d missed the kind touch of a mother hadn’t plagued her often in the past. Her father had done his best juggling his duty to her and alchemy. And he loved her, to be sure. But Nessa’s words held a point. Her father had refused to allow her leave the estate.
Now that he was gone, God rest his soul, Vivian was beginning to feel the lack of a mother’s love.
“Can you imagine a mam walking out on a wee bairn and a husband as fine as our Robert Stuart?” Nessa twisted Vivian’s auburn hair into a tight chignon.
Mayhap she should stop the maid’s chatter, yet Vivian sat silent, absorbing the information about her mother like a parched sponge.
“She was a pretty one, Ellen. You have the look of her in a way.” Nessa moved before her and tipped up her chin. “Same reddish hair and rosy skin. But she had a devilish spirit that refused to be tamed.” With a brisk nod, she moved back to dressing her hair.
Vivian winced as Nessa firmly pushed a pin in place to keep her long hair secure. Running a hand over the chignon, she asked, “Is that why Father never allowed me to leave the estate?”
It struck her that perhaps her father’s way of life wasn’t as wholesome as she once believed. She’d never wanted for anything. In fact she never wanted to leave the comfort of the estate. She kenned it was strange, but it never bothered her in the past. But now, now that she’d traveled across Scotland and experienced a bit of life, she questioned her father’s motives.
Nessa patted her head. “’Tis glad I am you realize you weren’t free.”
Vivian bit at her lip and tried to summon the questions that lurked deep in her mind. “Was. . .was my father mad?”
Nessa clucked. “Nay, lass. Just mad about you and frightened you’d leave him as well.”
She nodded and tipped her chin down. “Did he ever speak of it to you and Bernard?”
Nes
sa sighed as she busied herself about the chamber. “Aye. Bernard and I tried to talk to him. Make him see the folly of his ways.” Shrugging, she hesitated before finishing her thought. “Seems he was trying to change, with bringing Mr. Burke to visit.”
A fine hornets’ nest that wrought, Vivian reflected. She kept her opinions of Donal Burke to herself. His vile behavior was not easily thought of.
Pleased her maid hadn’t pursued the topic of Donal, Vivian watched her flutter away.
Vivian thought about all the woman had said, finding it hard to believe she’d landed in the same situation she had lived in for almost twenty-one years. Och, it had never occurred to her to question her father’s rules. Although he hadn’t posed them as rules, just the way in which they were to live—a standard so to speak.
Westington proved to be self-sufficient, with a hearty garden, livestock, even hives for honey. And one day a week in a tiny chapel tucked into the woods behind the manor house, they gave thanks. She never needed to venture through the broad iron gates and down the rut-filled road that lasted forever into the nearby village, into the world.
Vivian wouldn’t trade her time with her father for one ounce of freedom. To sweep away the time they shared would disrespect all memory of the dear man.
But life at Lomarcan Castle must change. Even though she planned to stay only until it was safe to leave, the suffocating atmosphere killed any hope of happiness. With the tragedies she’d suffered of late, she deserved moments of joy.
And after what Nessa said, she deserved freedom to make her own choices.
“What of the other servants? So far I’ve only met Liam since you have brought me my meals.”
Jamming her fists at her ample hips, Nessa said, “Would you believe there’s just three of them?”
“That can’t be possible.” Three servants?
Nessa nodded, her dark eyes alight with the chance to gossip. “Aye, ‘tis. There’s Liam as you’ve said, and young Madge. She’s a sassy morsel, but a hard worker in the kitchen. Auld Alice runs the castle.” Tapping her chin for a moment, Nessa continued, “’Tis said most left after he killed Laird Maclean. He went stark raving mad for a straight month. Hasn’t been any saner since.” That last bit Nessa said as calmly as she would rattle off the market list.
She glanced at Nessa and lifted her brow. It was odd that she didn’t seem fearful of Laird Maclean. Not one ounce.
True, he’d acted hostile, and. . .well maybe he was a bit fierce. She failed to summon the words to describe him. At times he frightened her severely. Other times, she felt sorry for him and his pained gaze. At the cliffs, the sadness in his eyes made her want to weep; he was like a wee trapped animal.
Three servants or twenty, she was determined to make changes. “If we’re to stay at Lomarcan, this chamber must be cleaned. After all, Laird Maclean insists I not leave it.” He’ll see how accommodating I can be.
“Now you want to be obeying the man.” The maid gave a weary shake of her head. “I’ll speak to the others and see what we can muster. Perhaps Bernard, blast his lazy carcass, can be persuaded”—Nessa paused to wiggle her eyebrows—“to lend a hand or two.”
Chapter 6
The servants of Lomarcan surprised her. Madge, a slight young woman with an easy flash of a smile, talked incessantly while she served dinner. Alice wore the cushion of age about her and was less gregarious. Her shifty gaze kept darting to the room’s entrance. Was she watching for Laird Maclean? Yet to show his face, the laird’s absence seemed to put one servant at ease and the other on edge.
Finding the food a welcome comfort, Vivian began to eat the salmon and marinated lamb. The color of the food greatly contrasted with the dim, candlelit glow of the room which was filled with dark, ornately carved furniture and no personal items. At Westington, the walls were filled with paintings and flowers. The tables were covered with trinkets, books, and chemistry apparatuses—comforting and homey.
She inhaled and cringed regardless of the fact that the musty smell almost disappeared beneath the floating aroma of succulent lamb. She felt ridiculous sitting at the great dining table by herself, mounds of food at her side.
At home they ate simply, taking their meals in the small room off the kitchen that was filled with lace and pictures. The view outside Westington’s leaded windows offered enough fodder for conversation. On particularly lazy days, they’d prop open the door to the tidy kitchen and listen to the idle chatter of Nessa and Bernard. Many times, the couple had brought their tea and scones into the breakfast room and welcomed the evening with Vivian and her father. Och, she thought with sorrow, she’d never share a table with her father again. Tears blurred her gaze.
“Please sit,” the bittersweet memories urged her to say with a hesitant smile.
Madge and Alice stopped all movement and stared at her in amazement, then fear creased their brows. Alice recovered quickly and looked to the door and then to the opposite end of the table. Vivian watched as the maid narrowed her gaze and then shook her gray-topped head as if to acquiesce.
Unsettled, but not undaunted, Vivian stood and pulled out the seat nearest the pair. “I hate to eat alone. Especially. . .especially. . .”
Alice pushed the chair back in place. “M’lady, ‘tisn’t proper.”
With a wave of her hand, she looked to Madge. “Please, I won’t tell Laird Maclean.”
The maid patted her arm and led her toward the kitchen, snatching up the laden plate as she walked by. Madge pulled out a simple chair and set the plate on the table. “Here,” she proclaimed, “we can eat together.”
Smiling, Vivian spread a napkin across her lap and waited for the others to join her. The warmth of the room soothed her as a fire crackled with a pleasing rhythm. Herbs dried from the ceiling and blackened pots hung from the wall. To her surprise, Liam seemed to pop out of the woodwork, head bowed and hat twisting in his hands. She waved to the nearest chair and sighed with relief when he finally sat.
The euphoria gained dining with the servants quickly faded. Alice tossed hasty glances her way, as if warning her Laird Maclean would not be pleased if he found them. Ignoring the sullen maid, Vivian tried to engage the others in conversation. “How long have you served Laird Maclean?”
Alice stared at her plate, not eating. Madge nudged her with a sharp elbow and gave the other maid a probing glare. Answering despite her obvious displeasure, Alice muttered, “Been with m’laird since he was but a bairn.”
“Aye, and you here longer than that.” Madge swatted at the other maid. “Don’t be letting her upset you, m’lady.”
Vivian allowed a smile, albeit a reluctant one. Why did Alice resent her presence so?
“Now, me, I’ve been at Lomarcan since me mam worked here. I stayed on even after she passed and Laird Maclean’s death.” The servant gave an absent shrug of her shoulders and quickly crossed herself. “’Twas a sore tragedy, that one.”
Alice glared at the young maid as she grunted.
Biting her lip, Vivian swallowed her questions. Her intrusion on the daily life of the castle would be short. She didn’t want to learn anything that may alter her plans, or her opinion of the brooding laird. Still, a nagging curiosity tugged at her tongue. “There were no other children besides Laird Maclean?”
Silence reigned for a few tense moments.
Then Alice chuckled humorlessly. “That ‘twasn’t likely.”
Vivian longed to know more, but proper manners won out. “Much like myself, I’ve no siblings.”
“Aye, you and the laird have something in common then.” Madge grinned broadly, as if her comments sealed Vivian’s fate.
Quickly envisioning the man who rescued her, Vivian blanched. He was too much to consider—too dark, too big, not to mention the anger radiating from him in waves. She shook her head. “It matters not. I’ll be leaving in a short time.”
Alice grunted once again. Vivian was growing tired of the temperamental inhabitants of this castle. “’Tis true enough, I’v
e already spoken to Laird Maclean about it.”
“We’ll be seeing about that, lass.” Alice’s tone held a warning, but warning of what? “If Laird Maclean wants you to stay, you’ll no leave.”
She felt the ominous words slide down her spine.
Vivian picked at the lamb before her, roasted in rosemary and onion. It now tasted bland to her tongue. Unable to conceal the goosing of her flesh, she pretended to yawn to cover the nervous twitch.
“Is all well with you, m’lady?”
She forced a smile. “Aye, Madge.” Patting the maid’s hand, she gave a quick squeeze of reassurance.
Restless, Galen no longer stayed inside the library. He attempted to summon Liam for his evening meal, then gave up after the servant refused to answer the bell. He made his way downstairs to search for the errant man. Conversation lured him to the kitchen. ‘Twas like them, his crew of servants, to be passing the night away with his tea and time. Pushing the door open, he stalled. The scene read cozy, welcome, and something he wanted nothing to do with.
Bollocks. She was there amongst them.
Vivian Stuart sat like a regal queen attending her court, as Madge chatted in her inane way and Alice scowled at the plate before her.
“Give the laird a wide berth, m’lady. ‘Tis his father’s death and. . .other things.”
He listened before they sensed his presence. What was Madge speaking of? Did their meal include blathering about him as well?
“I demand to know what is going on,” he yelled as fury swept through him.
Each reacted as he expected—jumping out of their skin—except for the stranger. Her violet eyes never blinked. No, instead she fastened her gaze on him. No cowering, no shame. Just blatant bravado. He shoved any admiration of spirit aside, not willing to compromise his rules or desire for absolute obedience.
Madge stood and gathered her dishes from the table. Liam’s cup clattered against the saucer as he scooted from the room like a frightened mouse.