A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  Claire carried the plates and silverware to table and set them on the end opposite the half-done puzzle. Retrieving her wine glass, she took a long, fortifying sip as she slipped into the chair Hugh was holding out for her. “I might have heard of him once or twice,” Claire said by way of understatement.

  Hugh knew David Hume. More than anything she had been subjected to over the past couple of days that blew her mind so completely Claire could only poke absently at a piece of zucchini with her fork. She’d had a fascination with religious philosophy as an undergraduate, filling her electives hours with Hume and Kant.

  “Are ye nae going tae hae any meat?” he asked, nodding at her plate of vegetables as he sat and began to cut into his filet.

  “No, I can’t eat that,” she responded absently, still awed over his revelation. “Seriously, why …”

  “Cannae eat it? Why ever nae?”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” she told him, and when he looked blankly at her, added, “Basically, it means I don’t eat meat.”

  “Ye dinnae eat meat,” he repeated slowly, watching her as he chewed. “Ye dinnae eat meat?”

  Claire released her breath with a laugh. “That just doesn’t compute for you, does it?”

  “Why would ye nae eat meat?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Voltaire?”

  “I dinnae think it of import.”

  “There you go,” Claire nodded practically, pointing her fork at him. “But what is of importance is who else did you know?”

  Hugh shrugged at the question. “How am I tae ken who would hae been important? We were simply men sharing ideas, challenging one another to deeper thought. What puzzles me is that ye find it strange that a man might travel in his youth, or take a Grand Tour. How else is a man tae learn of the world if he does nae see it wi’ his own eyes?” Hugh took another bite of his steak, chewing thoughtfully. “I am also puzzled by what benefit could come from avoiding meat.”

  “We can have that talk later,” Claire said dismissively. “Seriously, tell me about your life, and no more avoiding the subject. Now I just have to know. Tell me about your family, your parents.”

  “I had two,” he said unhelpfully. “A mother and a father.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Hugh!”

  “Verra well,” Hugh sighed, raising his glass. “Since it is inescapably clear that ye willnae let the matter rest, I will tell ye. I hae three sisters, all older than I. We were raised by our uncle, who was mother’s brother, as my parents are both deceased.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “I dinnae remember them. I was verra young when they died.”

  “Was your uncle famous, too?”

  “He is the Earl of Cairn.”

  “Of course,” Claire nodded, remembering that he had mentioned the name before and thinking just how greatly she had underestimated Hugh Urquhart. “Did he live at Rosebraugh as well?”

  “Nae, he had estates of his own west of Dingwall but he schooled me in my responsibilities wi’ his own sons. I was fostered tae the MacDonnell at Glengarry when I was eight, and at fourteen attended the University of Edinburgh, as was expected in our family. Afterwards, my grandmother insisted that I hae a Grand Tour in the tradition of her family. She was English,” he added at Claire’s inquiring glance.

  Fostered at eight, Claire thought in surprise. Grand tour? “I thought you hated the English.”

  “Nae the English so much as their politics and their incessant need tae dominate all around them,” he amended. “Surely as a descendant of the colonists, ye ken that.”

  Maybe not the Americans of today, but surely the founding fathers had. “I suppose I do. So what was this Grand Tour?”

  “An extended journey tae the Continent … tae Europe,” he clarified, still eating heartily. “I traveled wi’ my cousin, Keir, though he was far more interested in the ladies than in anything else. Your Voltaire was a fine source of that sort of knowledge as well. He had an eye tae be sure. As I said, we traveled to Venice, Austria, and Paris. We returned home tae assume our responsibilities. I ran my estates and saw my sisters well wed, but after some years, the lure of further knowledge drew me back tae Paris, where I joined the Academy of Science. In recent years, I spent time in France and Berlin, where I was invited tae Frederick’s court. The king was an interesting man. Eminently knowledgeable on many subjects, though ye might know as much. Did ye know he composed hundreds of pieces for the flute? Or that he wrote nearly as much as Arouet? There were some trifling rumors of his sexual preferences, as he neglected women, including his wife. Some say his lifelong friend, Hans Hermann von Katte, was actually his lover, but many at court argued that the king merely had greater things tae contemplate than women.”

  “From there I returned home at my uncle’s insistence tae take up arms in support of the Jacobites,” Hugh ended, dropping his knife and fork on the plate and leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank ye for the meal, Sorcha. It was most delightful.”

  Claire nodded, swirling her wine around in her glass. She had finished her own small portion some time ago, and had just sat in wonder as he told his tale. Frederick was none other than Frederick the Great. And not only had he known Voltaire and David Hume, he had met Johann Sebastian Bach as well. She felt mortified for ever having thought him little more than a country bumpkin, and told him so.

  Hugh only laughed her apology away. “I accept yer apology and wi’ it will grant ye this one wee concession: I wasnae inclined tae say so before but yer impression of my people as a whole was nae far from the truth. The circumstances and education of men of my ranking are far removed from those of the average man. There are many—too many—of my countrymen who lack education of any sort. There are some who would like to mandate schooling for all, but who is tae say tae a father that he maun lose his strong sons at harvest time tae a schoolroom?”

  “What about the girls?” Claire asked.

  “What of them?” he challenged provocatively, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t you think they should have been educated, too?”

  “A highly provocative question, which I shall abstain from answering,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  “Come on!” she dared. “Tell me what you really think.”

  “I believe my thoughts and philosophies are obviously better suited tae another era, and that is all I will offer on the subject.” Hugh pushed away from the island and stood. “Now shall I assist wi’ the washing?”

  “That’s a rather cowardly change of subject, Hugh,” Claire said, expecting him to bristle as he always did when his manhood was challenged, but Hugh surprised her with a wink and a broad smile that deepened his dimples as he gathered the plates and carried them to the sink.

  “If there is one thing I hae learned in all my life that I adhere tae more than any other, it is that one should ne’er argue wi’ a lass in a righteous temper.”

  “Humph! Where did you learn that?”

  “From my grandmother.”

  They laughed comfortably together as Claire joined him at the sink. “Smart woman,” she quipped, laughing up at him, and Hugh glanced down at her, his smile slowly slipping away.

  Only then did Claire realize how close she stood to him, how she could feel the heat of his body warming her arm. How wonderfully handsome he was. His eyes were deep blue beneath his heavy dark brows. The planes of his cheeks were smoothly sculpted but for that devastating dimple that was slowly disappearing. Despite his afternoon shave, there was already a beard shadowing his jaw, but for the first time she could see the tendons of his lean neck and his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. It was so tempting, that urge to reach out and touch him. Touch him not to comfort or soothe but to simply feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers.

  Hugh shifted slightly, his chest suddenly at eye level, drawing Claire’s gaze to the V of the T-shirt and to the rise and fall of his chest. She could lay her head there … o
r press her lips there. Would he embrace her, she wondered? What would it feel like to be held in those strong arms? To have that massive body surround hers?

  Did she really want to know?

  Did she dare deny it?

  “Sorcha,” he whispered huskily.

  She looked up to find his head bent, his lips just inches away. He was warm, oh so warm. Life radiated from him until she was engulfed in it. Claire breathed in deeply, swaying unconsciously toward him as if he were a magnet, her chest almost touching his. Hugh bent his head, his cheek inches from hers. “Release me from my vow, lass.” She could feel his breath brush against her neck and shivered.

  How could she release him when she couldn’t release herself? Regretfully, Claire stepped away with a long sigh that was echoed by Hugh’s and changed the subject with forced gaiety. “Since your uncle was an earl, I suppose that you always had servants to wash dishes for you, huh? Why don’t you just let me do these and you can take our luggage upstairs?”

  “I am capable of assisting,” he said, his hand covering hers as she reached to turn on the water. His rough hand set her skin tingling instantly, and Claire jerked away from his touch. “Sorcha, I …”

  “No touching, Hugh, remember?” she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  “Aye. How could I forget?” His voice was tight, disappointed in her, but perhaps no more disappointed than she was in herself. “Where should I take the bags?”

  Claire gave him brief directions to two of the guestrooms above that her family had used before, adding brightly, “I’m sure your uncle would have a fit if I let his nephew do the dishes anyway.”

  “Nae at all,” Hugh said, his suddenly arrogant voice making Claire look up curiously. “I am the Duke of Ross and I hae always done as I bluidy well please.”

  Stunned, Claire could do nothing but turn and stalk angrily away. A duke? Good Lord, could it get any worse?

  Chapter 15

  The third day of freedom

  Daylight streaming in through the huge plate glass windows that served as the walls of Robert Mitchell’s waterfront home woke Claire early the next morning, and she rolled over to look at the bedside clock. With a sigh, she flopped onto her back, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

  The windows had been too dark the night before for her to appreciate the views the house offered, and Claire did that now as she climbed out of bed, sighing over the beauty of the sound. The day was overcast—no surprise there—but it wasn’t raining. The sun was even bravely trying to pierce the cloudy barrier that separated them. Dressing, Claire left the guest room she had assigned herself and peeked into the one she had given Hugh, only to find him gone and the bed neatly made.

  She wouldn’t blame him if he left her now. And perhaps it would be better for them both if he did. Clearly there was a mutual physical attraction between them, but under the circumstances it would be foolish—insane, even!—to throw caution to the wind and … well, let nature take its course. It wasn’t something she wanted, Claire told herself firmly. She had told herself she wouldn’t second-guess her decision, but it was fear for her personal wellbeing that prompted her to do so now. It was the fear of something much deeper. Something infinitely more dangerous.

  Something that had kept her tossing and turning all night.

  On top of that, he was a duke. To borrow an exclamation from Hugh, a bloody duke. No doubt he was used to bowing, scraping, and complete obedience. If he thought to expect as much from her, Claire knew she was the wrong girl for him, hands down.

  So, he would just have to accept that theirs was purely a business relationship. Her business was to keep him safe and then get on with her life. Period.

  Going downstairs, Claire called his name but received no response. She moved into the kitchen. Her voice rang hollowly in the empty house. The kitchen looked untouched.

  A frown furrowing her brow, Claire took the empty pot from a small countertop coffee maker and went to the sink to fill it. Through the window, she could see Hugh sitting on a large driftwood log near the shoreline. While the pot filled, Claire watched him as he sat motionless, staring out at the water.

  Turning away, she filled the coffee maker, setting the filter in place and measuring out the coffee, all the while mentally scolding herself, trying to talk herself out of doing what she knew she was going to do. Trying to remember that it was all just business.

  With a sigh, Claire knew she was doomed to failure. Her resolution was undone within minutes of its conception.

  Because underneath all of his bravado and teasing, Hugh was hurting. She could see the signs in his body posture as easily as she had heard them in his words on the ferry the previous night. Under all the swagger he had put on, under all the arrogance, he was just frightened … as much as he hated to confess such a thing. He might hide it beneath humor, but it was there and Claire’s heart ached for him. That pain was what had softened her to him in the first place. She knew what it was like to be suddenly alone and scared. At least she had had her parents to run to, someone to find some comfort in if she needed it. Who did Hugh have? Just her. And every fiber in her being was urging her to give solace where she could.

  It was gray and dismal, Hugh thought as he stared out over the waters. The desolate beach was strewn with driftwood and rock, one thrown onto the sand by the rough waters, another smoothed flat as a result of the same. The water of this Puget Sound was vast and turbulent, with shades of blue turning to gray as the waves peaked and dropped. In the distance, he could see the dark shadow of land at the horizon and closer another band of land jutted into view. The whole of it was bathed in rugged beauty.

  It wasn’t home but it was a good imitation. Just sitting there staring out over the waters as the sun had risen over them had put a balm on the aggravation of another sleepless night. Another sleepless night wondering what he would do. What he could do. So far, his only thought had been to assure his continued freedom and return to his homeland.

  But what then?

  Hugh felt for the medallion lying beneath his shirt over a heart aching with loss. Even glossing over his life the night before had been difficult, though in the end he had felt all the better for it. What would his sisters think of his disappearance? Would they think him taken in battle? A prisoner of war? With his rank, it might have been a likely consequence if he had been captured. They might have negotiated for his return. Would the Sassenach’s denial of his capture lead to only more distrust and further hatred?

  A gravelly crunch sounded behind him, and Hugh turned to find Sorcha solemnly watching him. Taking the mug she held out to him, Hugh shifted to the side in a silent invitation for her to join him. She did, and for a long while they simply sat in companionable silence, sipping their coffee. Hugh knew why she was there and her silent support was just one more thing to be thankful for. “This place reminds me of home.”

  “I was hoping it would.”

  “One could look out the windows of Rosebraugh and see a comparable view.” Sorcha offered no response, and that restraint somehow prompted him to continue. “As I said, my home lies east of Cromarty, where the Moray Firth meets the Cromarty Firth. Beyond ye would see the North Sea.” Hugh swept his hand before them. “Across the south sutor, I could see land beyond. More of Scotland, just as ye see that land from here. Thank ye for bringing me here.”

  “You’re welcome.” Sorcha fell into silence once more before asking, “So should I be calling you ‘your Highness’ or ‘your Grace’ or something like that now?”

  “Nae,” Hugh said softly. “I hae many regrets for those words. My sense was overcome by my … ” He let the word fade away. He had many regrets in general. There was little need to point them out one by one or he might inadvertently voice his regret that he hadn’t been able to take her in his arms as he wanted. Her rule had manifested itself as something of a challenge to his manhood. Even now he could feel the warmth of her body next to him, and the rekindled desire called for him to gather her close and feel that heat p
ressed against him.

  Hugh thrust away the temptation, forcing himself to remember that she didn’t want him or at least wouldn’t welcome him in that way. “Regardless, everything that made me a duke vanished long ago.”

  Years of training and aristocratic hauteur clearly were not enough to mask the pain in his voice when it came to speaking of his loss, because Sorcha hesitantly asked, “Are you doing all right?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Hugh responded with a dismissive shrug. “My decisions plague me. I hae put ye in serious jeopardy, and that cannae be forgiven. If they determine that yer helping me, they will come after ye, will they not? There will be nowhere left tae run.”

  Sorcha shrugged as well, though her veil of nonchalance was not as practiced as his. It was an easy thing to see that she had her worries as well. “Let’s worry about that later.”

  “I ken now that there is little I might accomplish on my own,” he reluctantly admitted. “But tae protect ye, we should devise some strategy, for they will unquestionably outnumber us.”

  “They’ll have to find us first.” Sorcha reached out and covered his hand with her own small one. Hugh looked down at her flesh, so pale against his own. Her protective caring warmed his heart and he enveloped her hand between his, but as if she had just realized what she had done, Sorcha drew her hand away and wrapped it around her mug. She looked blankly out over the water, again changing the subject, as was her wont. “They will have underestimated us on some level, Hugh. They’ll assume, as I did, that you are nothing but a savage. They’ll expect some rash, illogical behavior from you. Added to that, they will have to think—at least initially—that you are forcing me to help you. It gives us an advantage … two great minds on our side.”

  “Ye have been a great comfort tae me these past days, Sorcha.”

  “Anyone would have done the same.”