“What in heaven are you doing?” Bride demanded.
Anne lifted her auburn head and blinked, as if waking from a daze. “You said you needed them. You said you were riding to town today and—” Anne spoke in Gaelic, as they usually did among themselves. Only Mary resisted using it. As the youngest, Mary had experienced the least of their father’s influence, and she wanted to be modern.
“There is a stranger in the house, Anne, and Lord only knows why he is here. This will have to wait. Use some common sense, dear.”
Anne watched with befuddlement as Bride scooped up the paper and the stack of others nearby. Anne often had a bewildered expression. The next oldest after Bride, Anne was dreamy and distracted most of the time. Father had been sure she was a bit fey, and spent years trying to prove that Anne held some extraordinary sense or gift like talking to spirits.
Bride knew the explanation was much simpler. Anne merely had none of the common sense that Bride kept imploring her to use. She was not stupid, just vague. Anne never understood that one and one always, irrevocably, equals two. If presented with that truth she was apt to suggest that, given a certain perspective, it could be otherwise, and that two could well mean something other than one plus one if you only thought about it long enough.
Bride tucked the papers into a box in a drawer. She then hurried to the far corner of the room where the printing press stood.
She made very sure that nothing untoward had been left out after yesterday’s project. Reassured that all was in order, she took several deep breaths to calm herself.
“Where is Joan?” she asked.
“She went to help that other man with his horses.”
The other man had been as pressed and elegant as his master, and handsome enough in a young, fair way. Bride did not think a city servant would find Joan appealing, but— “Go and tell her Jilly will need some hare for dinner. Then she is to get back here quickly to clean up. Tell her she must wear a dress for meals today, and that if she does not change her boots I will make her do all the darning for the next month.”
Deciding that all was in order, that her sisters were accounted for and ready to march to their instructions, Bride approached the library. She took two more deep breaths, called forth her “book English,” and prepared herself to deal with the pain-in-the-arse intrusion of Lord Lyndale.
Yes, he was handsome. Lethally so.
That was the first thought that entered her head as she closed the library door behind her.
He had removed his fur-collared redingote. He stood near the fireplace, perusing a book he had removed from a high shelf. With his height, Bride judged he had not needed the ladder to reach it.
The cut of his black riding coat showed an athletic and broad-shouldered build. Fawn doeskin and high boots encased his legs. Bride wanted to think that his masculinity, so rare to behold in this house, did not affect her. Being an honest woman, she admitted it did. His presence had so totally taken over the small library that she felt as if she were the one intruding.
He looked over at her entrance. Thick, dark hair framed his face. His dark eyes, large beneath the perfect curves of his eyebrows, gazed at her long and hard. His wide mouth made a small smile that was not kind. His whole expression was one of barely contained annoyance.
The effect was to put her off her game immediately. She stood by the door like a mute.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said dryly.
She had left him here too long, he was letting her know.
“My apologies, sir. You were not expected.”
“Yes. Of course.”
He appeared to be waiting for something. When she did not move, he gestured to the sofa with some exasperation. “Perhaps if you sit, I can, too, and we can discuss why I am here.”
She walked over and sat, feeling stupid and awkward.
He settled himself in a nearby chair. Boots stretched out and body relaxed, he lounged like a man accustomed to taking his ease anywhere he chose. He propped his elbow on the chair’s arm, rested his chin in his hand and regarded her.
He did not speak, and she found that she could not. His masculine presence assaulted her like a challenge she did not know how to meet. The way he looked at her made her want to check that her petticoat’s torn edge was not showing and that her face was not dirty. She tried to find something authoritative to say, but instead she just kept swallowing, even though it was hard to do.
He flashed a much friendlier smile. A very charming one. She felt herself flushing. The room became hazy, except around the chair where he sat.
“You are much prettier in a dress.”
That snapped her back to her senses. She eyed him cautiously.
He wanted something.
“Do you often dress, um . . .” he made a gesture that implied the pantaloons and doublet.
“Only when I am going to kill someone.”
“Not often, then.”
“Not too often.”
He laughed lightly, as if she had made a little joke. She didn’t, so he might wonder if it had not been a joke at all.
“You spoke of your sisters. How many are there?”
“There are four of us.”
“And you are the eldest, if you are now head of the family. Might I know your name, Miss Cameron?”
“Bride.”
“And have you been someone’s bride?”
She felt a sneer of distaste starting to form. Her name, a form of Bridget, had given rise to some very tired jokes in recent years.
“I am not a widow, if that is what you mean.”
“Are all of your sisters unmarried, as well? May I ask their names?”
“My sisters are Anne and Joan, and then Mary. All are unmarried.”
“Do you often have to load a pistol to protect them?”
“Not more than once a year or so. Is there some reason why you are so curious about the matter, sir?”
“Indeed there is, and it would be best to explain. Did the name Lyndale mean nothing to you? Did your father never mention the Earl of Lyndale?”
“I cannot say that he did. Did you know my father?”
“Not me. The late earl, my uncle, knew your father many years ago. Before you were born, I suspect.”
“Well, the name has no significance to me. I am sorry.”
Lord Lyndale frowned while he thought about that. “Here is my situation, Miss Cameron. I have come here to investigate your family.”
Her heart got thick and heavy. Her stomach churned. It was as she feared. He had come all the way from London to investigate them. Perhaps if she feigned ignorance he would assume that four women could not possibly, on their own, have—
“You see, I promised my uncle before his death that I would search out the family of Angus Cameron and make sure that they were well cared for. That is why I am here.”
It was an unexpected and peculiar thing to hear. Bride was so relieved, however, that she almost burst out laughing. “Truly? That is the reason you are here?”
“Yes. What reason did you think?”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. I was just curious, as you might imagine. It was quite a mystery to me. However, as I said, you should have written. I would have assured you that we are fine here and contented and well cared for. You can return to London knowing that you fulfilled your duty.”
“Actually, I cannot. I am not at all convinced that you are fine and well cared for.”
“Excuse me?”
“Consider what I have seen thus far. A household of women living in isolation in a Highland glen, with no source of income from what I can tell, and with one of them wearing pantaloons and brandishing pistols to try and offer some security.”
“My father left us a legacy. We are hardly destitute.”
“Indeed? Did he have employment? My uncle, I will tell you, confessed to me that he ruined your father. That is the reason for my deathbed promise. So I will be surprised to hear that there was an estate of any am
ount on his death.”
Bride suddenly knew who the last Earl of Lyndale had been. She was heartily grateful that the current Earl of Lyndale was ignorant about all that.
“My father left us a legacy, sir. Your concern for our welfare is admirable, but I assure you that—”
“How much? He has been dead five years, you say. Is there enough left to keep you in the years to come? Despite being isolated here, there is some chance your younger sisters may marry, but it is unlikely that you ever will. Unless there are funds with an income of at least several hundred a year, I would hardly say that you are well cared for. . . .”
He went on and on. Bride stopped hearing him after the second sentence. Your younger sisters may marry, but it is unlikely that you ever will.
This arrogant, tactless man had her whole future wrapped up in his mind. He assumed she would lead a spinster’s existence on the edge of the world, her life dragging on through the years as one by one her sisters left until she dwelled alone in this house in lonely poverty.
It did not help that she had on occasion glimpsed the same future for herself the last year. She resented this man stating it so baldly and so casually, as if she should not mind his unkind words.
“. . . therefore, Miss Cameron, I think I should ascertain for myself if my obligations to my uncle’s wishes require any settlement.”
The statement broke through her boiling thoughts.
“You want to make a settlement on us?”
“Possibly.”
“Free and clear? No conditions?”
“Well, I think that you should move from here. I will arrange a home for you where your sisters might meet suitable husbands and where you will not have to protect their virtue with duels at dawn.”
It was just as she expected. No one ever gave you money without conditions. Accepting money always incurred a debt of one kind or another.
If this lord helped them in any way, he would be sticking his nose into their lives all the time. They could badly use the money, but they dared not give a member of the government cause to notice them, let alone interfere.
“We are not moving from this glen, sir. If that is the price of your settlement, we decline.”
“I am speaking of a better life. I will set you up in Edinburgh, if you like.”
“We will remain right here. We do not need your money, or your care. In fact, after dinner I will prove it. You see, Lord Lyndale, my father not only left us with a legacy, he also gave us the means to support ourselves.”
CHAPTER
THREE
Dinner was not a formal affair in the Cameron household.
Ewan found himself at table not only with Bride and her sisters Mary and Anne, but with an old woman they called Jilly, who took the chair beside his. Since Jilly directed the arrival of the food, Ewan assumed she was the cook.
They were speaking Gaelic when he arrived, but immediately switched to English when they noticed him. Their English was not laden with the dialect used by the stream earlier, either, but was instead a slow and deliberate proper English. Bride had adopted the same careful tongue when they conversed in the library, now that he thought about it.
He wondered if he should tell them the effort was unnecessary. He could haesna and daesna along with the best of them if he chose, and understood enough Gaelic to follow a person’s thoughts.
As they settled in, the sister named Joan arrived. She entered the room, adjusting her dress as if its fit irritated her, and managed to trip twice on the hem as she crossed the chamber.
Ewan had not met Joan yet. Her appearance and manner impressed him, despite the stumbles. Dark-haired, gray-eyed and handsome, she showed more self-possession than the other two. Where Mary was silly and Anne was dreamy, Joan seemed more like Bride in her presence.
After introductions, Joan walked back to the door and gestured. A man entered and she sat him in the empty chair next to hers.
She had invited Michael to dine with them.
Ewan gave Michael a scowl. Michael looked pointedly toward Jilly, then ignored the glare of disapproval. He turned his youthful, blond charm on the young ladies and acted as if sitting at table with his master was a common occurrence.
Which it was, but not in public and not for meals. Michael sat at other tables besides those designated for dining. Card tables.
It was part of their unusual arrangement, proposed by Michael four years ago when Ewan was in financial straits. His manservant had departed and Michael applied for the position. Barely twenty-one at the time, he had only asked for a chamber, board, and the chance to relieve gentlemen of bundles of money by being included in the card games frequently held in Ewan’s chambers. Michael’s dream was to make a fortune at gambling, then open his own gaming hall.
“Your horses are very impressive, Lord Lyndale,” Joan said.
“Joan has a great love of animals,” Michael said. “She delights in taking care of them.”
“Are you saying that the young lady, not you, groomed my horses?”
“She insisted. Didn’t you, Joan?”
“You have no need to worry, Lord Lyndale. I know what I am about. I have been tending to our horse for years.”
“She did a fine job, sir. I stayed to keep an eye on things.” He bestowed on Joan the special smile that had won him feminine favors when some of Ewan’s parties had taken certain directions. Experimenting with a servant was unaccountably seen as a new adventure by some ladies.
Ewan watched Michael ooze the appeal of a bad angel, and noted Joan’s wide-grinned reaction.
Both had been out of sight for hours. It would not have taken much time to deal with the horses. . . .
He glared at Michael again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bride glaring, too.
“Fine weather you have here. Not nearly as cold as I expected,” Ewan said in his most jovial, divert-the-pistol-toting-harridan tone.
“Better if it snowed,” Bride said. “Fewer intruders in the glens, then.”
Now that was uncalled for. The woman had clearly decided to be obstreperous instead of grateful, but that did not mean she had to be rude.
“She didna—that is, did not—mean you, Lord Lyndale,” Mary hastened to add. A tiny smirk on Bride’s mouth said her sister was too optimistic about Bride’s manners. “By ‘intruders’ she means the duchess’s factors and their men. That is who we thought you were at first. Bad weather slows them down.”
“They were just east of Shenwell last week,” Anne said in an ethereal voice. “Three townships got burned out.”
Bride’s attention sharpened. “Where did you learn that? I have heard nothing of it.”
“Roger MacKay told me this morning, while he was waiting for you to kill Jamie.”
“I wish you had told me this, Anne.”
“Why?” Anne asked, puzzled. “You canna change or stop it. Nothing much you can do except—”
She stopped talking in midsentence. Ewan was sure he heard a collective inhale from the other women at the table.
Anne smiled nervously and began to shovel soup into her mouth.
Joan deliberately engaged Michael in a spirited exchange about horses he had known in bygone years. It did not seem to dampen her enthusiasm that Michael waxed most eloquent over the ones who had helped him win big wagers.
Their chatter tried to banish the quaking silence, but it was still there, hanging in the room, pushing the conversation to one side.
Bride did nothing to dispel it. Nothing to make her guest at ease.
Well, what did he expect. He was an intruder. It wasn’t her fault that he had this duty.
Then again, it wasn’t his fault, either, and her pointed lack of welcome was annoying.
He could understand that his arrival and intentions caught her by surprise. He was sympathetic if she had been too startled in the library to comprehend her good fortune. However, she needed to use some sense now, and see that if she would set pride aside, she and he
r sisters would be better off for it.
He would explain all that to her before sundown.
He turned to Jilly, who ate silently by his side.
“Do I have you to thank for the excellent food?”
“They help me. Too much for me to dae alone noo, especially when we hae nobility to feed.”
Her tone was just shy of resentful. Ewan surveyed the various dishes on the table. It would hardly impress the ton of London, but he suspected it was a feast for them.
He glanced around the dining room’s furnishings. Like the ones in the library, they were presentable but worn, and the type of objects a prosperous merchant would have bought a generation ago. The drapes at the windows had faded with time. A platter in front of his plate showed a few chips. The pewter in his hand wore the patina of age.
The whole room spoke of better days gone bad. It was the kind of room in which genteel poverty dined. The sisters’ dresses, at least a decade out of style, displayed bits of careful mending. Considering they entertained a guest, these were probably their best clothes, but their dated, middling elegance was all too fitting for the environment.
Mary passed down a platter of rabbit. Jilly had cooked it in a pleasant sauce, and Ewan thought it was the best dish in the meal.
He told the cook that as he helped himself to half of what he normally would take. He did not want to eat them out of a month’s provisions in one day.
“Joan got it,” the old woman said. “She’s good at that.”
Got it?
Ewan looked at the rabbit, then over at Joan who was blushing under Michael’s attention.
Ewan pictured the map he had followed to this glen. He seemed to remember a hunting preserve nearby.
He looked down the table at Bride. She returned a level gaze of utter indifference.
His mind was making a long list of things to discuss with this woman, and the means by which Joan had “got” this rabbit would definitely be among them.
“If Roger MacKay is correct, we need to finish the last batch and be ready,” Joan said.
“I know that.”
Normally Bride was grateful for Joan’s practicality. Joan possessed the common sense and sobriety that Anne and Mary sorely lacked, and served as Bride’s right hand. Bride did not understand Joan’s love of horses or enjoyment of physical work, but they still had much in common.
Lord of Sin Page 3