In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  Instead, she lay there with a smile curving her lips, her heart dancing a little jig, her skin pebbling. Delight surged through her, as if every part of her rejoiced in this new sensation.

  Passion was a heady drug and she could easily become addicted.

  “Did I bring you pleasure, Glynis?”

  She felt her cheeks heat. Even the tips of her ears warmed. She really wanted the sheet but she blinked open her eyes and forced herself to face him.

  “Are you very experienced, Lennox?”

  He smiled but didn’t answer her. She wanted to press him but it didn’t seem at all proper to ask how many women he’d loved right at the moment.

  “I should hire you out to the Americans. They could use you as a weapon in their war. All you have to do is look at the women of America and they’d fall swooning at your feet.”

  His laugh made her smile.

  She took his hand and pressed it against her breast where he could feel the pounding beat of her heart.

  The pleasure had splintered her, making her moan aloud.

  More than I have ever felt. More than I ever imagined. Until tonight I hadn’t known it was possible to feel this way. I had not even dreamed my soul could go spinning among the stars and I would be left here, to be reborn again by the sight of your smile.

  How did she say that?

  She was so filled with emotion she could barely speak. Why hadn’t she seduced him seven years ago?

  He was so kissable, she had to cup his face with one hand and move her mouth to his.

  The world slid away like a silk chemise.

  He tasted wonderful, his tongue moving deep. She opened her mouth wider, welcoming and willing.

  Long moments later she pulled back to find Lennox smiling at her.

  She moved to her side and he did as well until they faced each other. Although she was naked she felt heated. The warmth must come from him being so near, or that his arm was around her, pulling her close.

  She hadn’t known anything about lovemaking, had she? She could count how many times she and Richard had conjugal relations, as he called it. She didn’t want to recall those nights. Not like now. She’d remember now forever.

  “I’m not as good as you,” she said, sliding her hand across the sheet until their fingertips joined.

  “Am I good?” he said.

  “I’m not as kind or generous or giving.”

  His face changed, the easy teasing look in his eyes vanishing.

  “Yes, you are. You always have been. You would do anything for your parents or for Duncan.”

  She would do anything for him. Didn’t he know that?

  Her fingers reached out, played at the nape of his neck.

  “I’ve always liked your hair,” she said. The words came without her volition, as if the nineteen-year-old girl inside her was being urged forward. Come and say whatever you will. Tell him how he fascinates you. Leave no secret unspoken.

  “I’ve always liked yours,” he said. “I like how it’s lighter at your temples.”

  “And your eyes,” she said. “I like how sometimes they look green and sometimes gray.”

  “I like the dark circle around yours,” he said. “It makes your eyes look mysterious.”

  She rolled over on her back, smiling up at the ceiling.

  “I’m not that mysterious,” she said, turning her head.

  “Yes, you are,” he said, his smile vanishing.

  She wouldn’t allow Baumann to intrude yet. Soon. Soon, she would tell him everything.

  Would Lennox regret marrying her? She would have years to change his mind, wouldn’t she?

  “I’m glad I kissed you,” she said. “I’m glad I came to Hillshead and Lucy saw.”

  “So am I.”

  “I should have seduced you,” she said. “But I suspect you would have been honorable and refused me.”

  “A man made of stone?”

  She smiled.

  “If you had succeeded, what would Lucy have said then?”

  She shook her head. “No more than she already said.”

  “But you, independent as you are, were prepared to face down the gossips.”

  She glanced at him again, considering his words. “Only until you kissed me,” she said.

  “You agreed before I kissed you.”

  “Did I? Perhaps I was simply anticipating the kiss.”

  She forced a smile to her face because she felt suddenly on the verge of tears. How odd to go from bright amusement to confused tears in the space of seconds.

  “Why didn’t you marry Rose?” she asked.

  “She wasn’t you.”

  Her heart sputtered to a stop then started again.

  She looked at him, allowing everything she felt to show on her face, in her eyes. She couldn’t recall ever feeling as vulnerable as now.

  He was her lover. But more, he was her love.

  The knock on the bedroom door startled her. In one movement Lennox was up, donning his trousers.

  She grabbed the sheet, wrapped it around herself and sat listening.

  “Tell him I’ll be with him shortly,” Lennox said.

  “Yes, sir,” Mrs. Hurst said.

  Lennox closed the door and turned to her, his face stony.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “The Raven. It’s on fire.”

  Chapter 30

  The messenger was one of the apprentice designers, a lad he’d hired from Edinburgh who had a love of ships as strong as his own. Henry was tall and gangly still, with a long neck and a prominent Adam’s apple. His face was lean almost to the point of being emaciated and his wrists hung out of the sleeves of his shirts.

  He’d heard one of the other draftsmen call Henry a stork, and the description seemed apt. But once he had enough to eat, the lad would fill in and not look so scrawny or ill-fitting in his own body.

  “Sir,” he said, standing when Lennox entered the library.

  “What happened, Henry?”

  “Sir,” Henry said again, turning his hat in his hands and staring down at the floor.

  Lennox could handle most problems by remembering two rules: nothing was as desperate as it seemed and little was accomplished overnight.

  “Is she gone?”

  “No, sir, the extra watchmen you assigned saw it quick enough. They were able to put the fire out. But the wheelhouse is damaged and part of the deck will have to be rebuilt.”

  “Go on back to the yard,” he said now. “Tell Samuel I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Henry nodded.

  “You’ll be rebuilding her, sir?”

  “I’ve spent a year building her, Henry. I’m not about to let a little fire stop me now.”

  Fraser Trenholm & Company technically owned the Raven and had since he’d turned over the ship to Gavin. Ostensibly acting as an agent for the Confederate States of America, the company provided a packet service between Charleston and Liverpool. They also procured ships for the Confederate fleet, a duty not as well-publicized.

  Although the bank draft had already been deposited, Gavin’s death complicated the situation.

  He might not be legally responsible, but he felt morally required to make repairs. The best thing to do was buy back the ship. After she was rebuilt he could either sell it to the Confederacy again or another buyer.

  “The men think she’s unlucky.”

  He didn’t want to hear that. Sailors might be superstitious but shipbuilders were equally so. If a man got it into his head a ship was unlucky, he’d find a dozen reasons to prove it. When the Raven was repaired, she’d have a reputation. Not a good beginning to any ship and one that would make it difficult to sell her to another buyer. Not even the Confederacy was desperate enough to take on a ship thought to be cursed.

  “Let’s see if we can prove them wrong,” he said.

  Maybe it was time he went to the authorities and told them what he knew: Matthew Baumann acted for the Union. The man was determined to sto
p the Confederate navy from acquiring more ships by any means necessary, even if he had to resort to murder and arson.

  “HAS MY husband returned from the yard, Mrs. Hurst?” Glynis asked casually, only stumbling a little over the word husband.

  How odd to call Lennox husband. But they’d only been married a day. Only one day and her life seemed upside down.

  She had the oddest need to smile, and she did so to the maid dusting the paintings hanging on the wall beside the staircase, to the maid anxiously bobbing a curtsy at the door of the family dining room, to the maid who’d served her breakfast, and now to the housekeeper, Mrs. Hurst.

  Despite the fire on the Raven, the world was a grand and glorious place this morning. At least her little corner of the world, bathed in sunshine, scented with roses, and graced with a sweet summer breeze.

  “No, Mrs. Cameron, he hasn’t,” the woman said, inclining her head toward her.

  Mrs. Cameron. She caught her breath. She was Mrs. Cameron, wasn’t she?

  Mrs. McNair had been the housekeeper when she left for London. What had happened to the dear lady? She’d been older, with a bun of red hair and blue eyes always holding a warm expression.

  “Have you been at Hillshead long?” she asked.

  Mrs. Hurst must have been a beauty when young. Even now the housekeeper was very attractive. Wrinkles crinkled the skin at the outward corners of her eyes and framed her mouth, but there was no mistaking the perfection of her well-formed lips, aquiline nose, and tranquil blue eyes. Her brown hair was laced with gray but she didn’t stoop. Nor did her hands have the veined look common in so many older women. Whatever her age, she carried it proudly.

  Glynis had not been able to afford a housekeeper in Washington, and Mabel and her mother handled all the duties in their home. How did one treat a housekeeper? She would imagine very respectfully. If not, the woman could make daily life miserable.

  “I haven’t been, no, Mrs. Cameron. Only two years now.”

  “I imagine Hillshead keeps you busy. Everything seems to run beautifully.”

  The woman inclined her head in acceptance of the compliment.

  “We have a great many people on staff, Mrs. Cameron. That always makes the upkeep of a large house like Hillshead easier.”

  “How many people?” she asked. Had any of them once worked at the mill?

  “Thirty-two, Mrs. Cameron. Seventeen maids, two scullery maids, two cooks, four gardeners, and seven employed at the stable.”

  Thirty-two names to memorize and thirty-two people to meet.

  “Could you furnish me with a list, Mrs. Hurst, along with their duties?”

  The woman looked surprised but she didn’t demur.

  “Of course, Mrs. Cameron. When would be an acceptable time to go over the menus?”

  “Did Mary discuss those with you?”

  The housekeeper nodded.

  “I think, until I have time to talk with Miss Cameron, it would be best to continue as things are. After that, we can decide who handles what.”

  The woman only nodded but there was a small smile on her lips. Had she passed some test?

  She didn’t want to usurp Mary’s authority or take over all her duties. That wasn’t a good way to start a relationship with a new sister-in-law.

  “Would you ask the stablemaster if there’s a carriage I can use?”

  “We have three carriages, Mrs. Cameron,” the woman said proudly, almost as if the question were an insult. “One of them is Mr. Cameron’s, of course. I’m certain one of the other two would be available.”

  “Thank you. I’d like to go to the yard.”

  The woman’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. “The yard, Mrs. Cameron?”

  At her nod, the housekeeper stepped back. “I’ll let Mr. McElwee know.”

  Rising from the breakfast table, she raced up the staircase without a shred of decorum, grabbed her reticule, checked her hair in the mirror, and was down again in less than five minutes. Lennox wouldn’t return to Hillshead for hours and she wanted to know about the Raven. But the ship’s fate paled beneath the need to see him.

  As a newlywed, perhaps she was supposed to be a little shy around her husband. But this was Lennox. The anticipation of seeing him again all dressed and proper made her cheeks warm. Would he recall the last time he saw her, naked with not even a sheet to cover her?

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  “I BEG your pardon, Mrs. Cameron, but would this be your umbrella?”

  Glynis glanced at the stablemaster. A portly man, he reminded her of a bear with his full brown beard and bushy hair, especially standing as he was with his legs braced far apart. His large pawlike hands held out a black umbrella with an intricately carved crook handle.

  She shook her head. “No, Mr. McElwee,” she said. “It isn’t. Could it be my husband’s?”

  My husband: there was that word again. How strange it had the ability to make her smile now.

  “I’ve already asked him, ma’am. It isn’t.” He frowned at the offending article. “I’ve a dislike of anything not in its proper place, Mrs. Cameron. I’ll put it in the lost bay. After a month or so, if no one claims it, one of us will take it home or give it to one of the maids.”

  “That sounds like the best policy,” she said.

  She settled into the carriage, arranged her skirts, and placed her hands together on her lap. Outwardly, she was the picture of decorum. Inside, her stomach jumped with excitement. She would see Lennox soon.

  At the yard, seabirds clamored overhead, their squawking cries barely heard over the hum of activity on the docks. They passed three sets of Clydesdales pulling wagons piled high with timber.

  Once, the rhythm of the cotton mills had punctuated Glasgow’s day, with a third of Glasgow’s workforce earning their living in the textile industry. Now the shipyards employed more men, dictating the time work began, when lunch was taken, and the end of the work day.

  When the carriage halted in front of the Cameron and Company offices, she didn’t wait for the driver to open the carriage door but did it herself, hopping out of the vehicle before the steps unfurled.

  The scene today differed from the last time she was here. Now dozens of men scrambled over the Raven like industrious ants. Their shouting mingled with ringing hammers, the screech of winches, and ropes jerked tight against the weight of timbers being lowered into place. A briny breeze heavy with the sharp odors of paint and varnish made her nose itch. As she neared the office, the stench of smoke grew stronger.

  She stood at the base of the steps, hoping the damage to the Raven wasn’t worse than what she could see from there. Traces of soot still lingered at the base of one of the smokestacks, and most of the forecastle had been dismantled prior to being rebuilt.

  After a few minutes she turned and climbed the rest of the steps, opening the door to the office.

  All but one of the drafting tables were occupied, four of them by young men looking curiously similar to each other. She guessed their age as below twenty. Each was thinner than he should have been. They glanced up when she entered, returning to their tasks after a quick perusal of her.

  Lennox was seated at the desk in the corner, and she walked toward him, her smile blossoming. He stood, walking around the desk, stretching out his hands.

  “Glynis,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I came to see how the Raven was faring.” And you.

  She felt herself warm, looked down at their joined hands, then smiled up at him.

  Did he know how young she felt? She might have been reborn. Was that what love did to you? Or was it passion energizing every part of her body until she felt new?

  “Are you well?” he asked softly, his voice holding a tender note.

  If the office had been empty, she would’ve stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him. How lonely his mouth seemed at the moment.

  “I am,” she said. So wonderful her mood colored the day, touched it with magic. H
e was magic.

  He led her around to the chair, and she sat, gripping her reticule with one hand. The other rested on the desk, fingers stretched toward him as if she couldn’t bear to be parted even now.

  “The damage doesn’t look bad,” she said. “Is it worse than it looks?”

  He shook his head. “It didn’t get that much of a start before one of the guards saw it. But it will take a few weeks to repair.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, then.”

  He shook his head. “No, because of where it started. There’s no source of heat and we didn’t have a storm last night, so lightning is out as a cause.”

  She didn’t ask if he thought Baumann a suspect. Ignoring the man, however, didn’t make him vanish.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, pulling open a drawer. “It’s a draft,” he said, holding out a piece of paper to her. “For the mill.”

  She took it, her eyes widening at the amount. She’d never seen a check for so much money.

  “I didn’t really marry you to save the mill,” she said, still staring at it. “Or my reputation, for that matter.”

  She glanced up at him.

  “Regardless, I promised,” he said.

  The joy she felt a minute ago dimmed. Did he really think she married him because he promised to save the mill?

  Didn’t he know how she felt about him? Did he need her to say the words? Now wasn’t the time, not with the young men behind them. Even if she whispered, I love you, Lennox, would he believe her?

  Had he forgotten about last night and this morning? Was the passion he’d felt not connected to any other emotion? Did he feel nothing more than lust?

  The smile she’d so often worn to official Washington functions crept to her mouth and took up its long held place of honor.

  “Thank you,” she said, tucking the check into her reticule. “I’m certain Duncan will be grateful.”

  Standing, she fluffed her skirt, concentrating on the fit of the reticule string around her wrist.

  “Glynis . . .” he began.

  She shook her head at him. Do not speak now when it will not matter.

  He seemed to know how close she was to tears. Did he think, on the morning after their wedding night, she had come to him for money? Did he think her so avaricious?