Tempted by a Warrior

by Amanda Scott

  Fiona wondered if Mairi had thought about similar things when her son was born. She wondered, too, just when Mairi and Rob would return to the Hall.

  Taking a deep breath, she carefully picked up the sleeping baby, fearing on the one hand that he might waken and begin squalling, and on the other that he would not waken at all. He was breathing evenly, though, and if he realized that his mother was holding him, she could see no sign of it.

  Moving carefully back to her bed, she laid him gently on it and climbed in, plumping pillows behind her and then gathering him up again and holding him, enjoying his warmth against her body. As she looked down into his face, at the way his dark lashes curved against his cheeks, she tried to decide whom he resembled most. His hair was dark like her own, and her mother had said he had a lot of it.

  Fiona thought it rather sparse, not nearly as thick as hers or Will’s. It looked straight like hers, though, rather than curly like Will’s. As for the rest of him, he just looked like a baby, albeit a fine, bonnie one.

  When she touched one of his palms with a finger, his own tiny fingers curled around it, and she recalled how he had clutched Kirkhill’s shirt. She could hear her heartbeat, and a rush of warmth spread through her as she gazed lovingly at her son.

  Hearing a light rap on the door, she quietly said, “Enter,” not looking away from the baby but smiling, thinking that Flory had feared to startle her again.

  Surprised that she had not asked who it was, Kirkhill opened the door quietly and stood still, enjoying the sight of the lady Fiona smiling at the baby in her arms.

  “Just put it on the table, Flory,” she said softly without looking up. “I’ll get up in a moment and eat there as I usually do.”

  “I’m not Flory,” he said.

  She looked up then, her smile changing instantly to a frown. “Good sakes, sir, do you frequently enter a lady’s bedchamber without announcing yourself?”

  “I rapped,” he reminded her.

  She opened her mouth to speak but shut it again as color suffused her cheeks.

  “Why do you blush, my lady? You are properly covered.”

  “I thought you were Flory.”

  “Does Flory usually knock on your door before entering?”

  “Nay, but she startled me before when she came—” The color in her cheeks deepened, and she looked down again at the baby. Then, looking right at Kirkhill, she said evenly, “She just went to fetch my breakfast.”

  He held her gaze for a moment before he said, “Do you know, you remind me most forcibly sometimes of my youngest sister, Nan.”

  “Do I? Is she nice then?”

  “She is a damnable nuisance most of the time, particularly when she thinks she has persuaded me that she has not been up to mischief.”

  “Mercy, sir, what mischief do you imagine I have been up to?”

  Injecting a touch of sternness into his voice, he said, “I suspect that Flory caught you out of bed, which is how she startled you, and that she did not fetch the bairn to you before she left, as I first thought. I recall now that when I saw her in the hall a few minutes ago, all she said to me when I asked how you were faring was that you were awake and the babe was asleep in his cradle.”

  “Oh.”

  Detecting the wariness in her expression that he had noted a time or two before, he abandoned sternness and said, “I did not come to ring a peal over you, only to see if all was well and to learn what orders I should issue for the household.”

  “Then I hope you won’t be vexed when I tell you I mean to get up today.”

  “I cannot promise I won’t,” he said. “I don’t know much about the rules for women after childbirth, but because I don’t, I mean to take advice from your mother and Mother Beaton. If you do not want to vex me, you will do as they bid you.”

  “Tell me more about your sister.”

  “Nay, for I am sure that you will soon meet her, and I’ve a notion the two of you will get along well. Moreover, Flory will soon return with your breakfast. I did want to ask you, though, if you and Will had chosen a name for the lad.”

  She nibbled her lower lip.

  “’Tis not a difficult question,” he said. “You need only say aye or nay.”

  A slight smile touched her lips. “It is only that Flory asked me the same question,” she said. “I do not know yet what I want to call him.”

  “Did not your husband suggest a name?”

  She shrugged. “He took little interest in the fact that I was with child, except as my condition affected him.” Her cheeks reddened again. “In troth, I think he expected people to encourage him to name a son after himself. But I’d liefer not.”

  “Nay, ’tis better if names skip a generation. Mayhap your mother will have some suggestions. Would you like me to put him back in the cradle now?”

  “Flory will do it when she comes. I want to hold him for a while.”

  “Then I’ll take myself off. But you look after yourself as well as the bairn.”

  “How long do you mean to stay at Spedlins?”

  “As long as necessary,” he said. “I must look over Jardine’s accounts and the estates, of course, and decide if Evart, his steward, knows his business well enough for me to leave him in charge when I cannot be here. He is getting on in years.”

  “He and Old Jardine knew each other from childhood, so Evart is used to doing as he’s told. I expect you have your own good steward looking after your affairs back at Kirkhill.”

  He smiled, thinking of his uncle. “I do. My uncle, Sir James Seyton, should be there by now, because I sent for him as soon as I received word from Spedlins. My mother likes to have a member of the family in charge, and Uncle James will keep his eye on my sister, too.”

  “Does your mother not do that?”

  “She does try. But Nan’s determination is usually greater than our mother’s ability to stand firm, so Mother finds it difficult to keep Nan out of mischief.”

  “And you think I am like Nan?”

  “Do you think you are not?”

  She frowned. “I think I may have been mischievous once, in a way, but I have not felt at all so since coming to Spedlins.”

  “You just do not like it when others tell you what to do.”

  “Not when I don’t think they should,” she replied soberly.

  “We’re likely to fratch then,” he said. “I am accustomed to being obeyed. But I meant what I said to you the other night, Fiona.” Catching the slip, he said hastily, “I hope you don’t mind if I call you so when we’re alone. To address you so formally when we’ll be living almost in each other’s pockets seems unnecessary.”

  She said evenly, “What did you mean, my lord?”

  For a moment, he thought she meant they should retain their formality, but then he noted the twinkle in her eyes. He also noted again what a beautiful woman she was, especially sitting as she was with the baby cuddled in her arms and her hair parted in the middle and hanging in simple, glossy black plaits over her shoulders.

  He had dreamed of her again the night before, and had wakened in a sweat.

  Collecting his wits, he said more sharply than he’d intended, “I meant it when I said that your child has nowt to fear from me, lass. Nor do you.”

  “Good sakes, sir, I don’t fear you.”

  “That’s fine then. I think I hear your Flory coming now.” He stepped to the door to open it, and if Flory looked surprised to see him, she looked only grateful when he took the tray from her. “Put the bairn in his cradle,” he said to her. “Then you can arrange this tray on your mistress’s lap so that she need not get up again.”

  Flory’s eyes widened, but she said only, “Aye, m’lord.”

  When Fiona looked mutinous, he smiled at her and said, “Pick your fights carefully, my lady. This isn’t a good one. I’ll come back later to see how you do.”

  He waited a few beats to see if she would reply, while Flory leaned over her to take the baby. Then, as the maid was settling the chil
d into his cradle, he stepped nearer with the tray of food.

  Fiona watched him but said nothing.

  Flory turned to take the tray from him, saying, “Thank you, m’lord. I’ll look after them now.”

  Smiling at the still silent Fiona, he turned and left the room, wondering what they would fight about next.

  Fiona waited after the door had shut to be sure he would not return before she said, “He ought not to come into my room the way he did. He just walked in.”

  Flory looked astonished. “Without knocking?”

  “He did rap, aye, but lightly. I thought he was you.”

  “’Tis a good thing he did not come before, when it were me. Only think what he’d ha’ seen then if he had!”

  Remembering how startled she had been, and how she had tangled herself in her shift when Flory had spoken so sharply after entering quietly, Fiona chuckled. “I expect I’d have been just as startled to hear his rap then, and I might have thought he was you anyway. Sakes, Flory, gentlemen do not just walk into the bedchambers of women they scarcely know.”

  “Your father would ha’ done the same,” Flory pointed out.

  “Kirkhill is not my father!”

  “Aye, sure, I ken that fine. But does he no stand in much the same place to ye, thanks to the old master’s will?”

  “Mayhap he thinks he does,” Fiona said sourly. “He will be sorry if he tries treating me like a daughter, though. I’ll have none of that.”

  The thought that he probably did look upon her as a cross between a daughter and a younger sister did not sit well at all. She would rather fight with him.

  That thought brought another one, that he was kin to the Jardines. He did not look like them or act like them (except in his apparent penchant for issuing orders right and left). But the men of any given family were often much alike, and she did not want to learn that he was, after all, like Will and Old Jardine.

  Kirkhill spent the bulk of the morning interviewing Old Jardine’s steward and looking over Spedlins Tower. He was not favorably impressed with the place—because its late master had not maintained it well. Nor was he impressed with Evart, a timid, elderly man who seemed unwilling to express any opinions but who had answered all of Kirkhill’s questions willingly if somewhat vaguely.

  Warning the man that he would expect his company again the following morning to look over the rest of the tower’s demesne and as much of the rest of the Applegarth estates as they could easily cover in a day’s time, he retired to his chamber to write the letter he had promised to give Hod. He had not seen him all morning but was sure the man would not depart without telling him he was going.

  Finding a gillie outside his chamber door on the great hall dais, he said, “Do you know where to find Old Jardine’s Hod?”

  “Aye, sure, me lord.”

  “Fetch him for me, will you?”

  When Hod came to him, Kirkhill read him the letter and said, “I want you to keep this, Hod. If you find work with another nobleman, he may not be able to read it himself. But you may tell him that Sir Richard Seyton, Baron Kirkhill, will speak for you and will recommend you for any position that the man deems suitable.”

  Hod gave him a long look before he took the letter from him. “D’ye mean to say that ye’ve changed your mind, m’lord, and dinna want me to stay?”

  “I do not mean that,” Kirkhill said. “I say what I mean, Hod. I would be grateful if you would agree to stay for at least a month or so, or as long as you like. But whether you go or stay is up to you. The letter is yours in either event.”

  A wry smile touched Hod’s thin lips. “What if ye change your mind about what a grand chappie I be?”

  “Then I’ll tell you so, and I may alter some of what I might say to any man who came here asking about you. But I won’t change what I’ve written about how well you served Old Jardine. That is plain fact and will not alter now that he is gone. Nor,” he added with a smile, “do I think that you will serve me ill.”

  “I’ll stay then, m’lord, but what would ye ha’ me do? Ye’ve your own man, such as he is, so ye’ve small need o’ me.”

  “I believe that Old Jardine lacked a household steward as well as a housekeeper,” Kirkhill said. “I think you would do well as my steward.”

  After a pause, Hod said, “Her ladyship runs the house, m’lord. Mayhap ye didna ken that, things being what they be wi’ her just now. But she’d no like seeing me in charge o’ this household.”

  “Would she not? Does she have cause to dislike you?”

  Visibly taken aback by the direct question, Hod grimaced. “Aye, sir, she may think she does. Would ye be wanting to hear why?”

  Shaking his head, Kirkhill said, “That lies between you and her ladyship. You should know, though, that I will expect you to take your orders from her and to serve her as well as you will serve me. However, I will also expect that if you think she is acting unwisely, you will tell her so. If she persists in an unwise course without apparent good cause, you will bring the matter to me.”

  “Ye dinna want me to spy on her, do ye? I’d no like doing that.”

  “No, I want you to help me protect her. I ken fine that you are aware of Old Jardine’s suspicions about her, and I believe that you also know that rumors stirred by those suspicions have been flying the length and breadth of Annandale.”

  “Aye, sir, I did hear that.”

  “Tell me this then. Did you start them?”

  “Nay, sir. Old Master told anyone who would listen to him, though, so many here did ken what he thought. Them rumors could ha’ started here, right enough, but I dinna talk about Old Master, nor about aught he said to me. I doubt ye’ll believe that, for I ken fine that the lady Fiona blames me—”

  “You have given me no cause to disbelieve what you say, Hod. Until you do, your word is good enough.” He put out his hand. “Thank you for staying. You can begin your new duties straightaway. If you have any questions, ask me.”

  “There be one or two that come to mind, sir.”

  “And what would they be?”

  “Do I tell her ladyship that I am now house steward, or will ye tell her?”

  Kirkhill chuckled. “For my sins, Hod, I will tell her. May God help me.”

  “Aye, sir, ye’ll need His help if ye’re to come off wi’ a whole skin. Ye should be prepared to duck, too. She does like to throw things now and now.”

  “In that case, I had better tell her straightaway. It would not do for her to find out from someone else before I tell her myself. But you said one or two questions. Have you another?”

  “One, aye, about the old master.”

  “What about him?”

  “Folks be a-wondering when we should bury him,” Hod said.

  Kirkhill stared at him. “Bury him! Sakes, I thought you’d have done that straightaway. It’s summer, man. Where have they put his body?”

  “In one o’ the outbuildings, m’lord. Nae one dared take responsibility for the burial, wi’ her ladyship birthing and us thinking that ye’d want to see to it yourself.”

  “You thought wrong,” Kirkhill said. “See that he is properly prepared and we’ll bury him at dawn. Would he have wanted a priest?”

  “Nay, he didna hold wi’ priests or wi’ the Kirk.”

  “Then we’ll have a simple ceremony at dawn tomorrow. Anyone can attend who has a mind to, but you see that it gets done. That can be your first task as house steward. Why the devil didn’t you tell me at once that he was still aboveground?”

  “I didna think it were my business to tell ye. I thought Evart would.”

  “He should have, aye, especially as I asked him to show me everything here. Odd that it did not occur to him to show me where Jardine’s body lay. But I imagine that you can work with Evart to see the thing done properly.”

  “Aye, sure,” Hod agreed, nodding.

  “I’ll go and see her ladyship now,” Kirkhill said. Although he did not think Fiona would be pleased to learn of his decisio
n with regard to Hod, and did not want to debate it with her, he was disappointed when Flory answered his soft rap and told him that both her ladyship and the bairn were sound asleep.

  He was glad that Fiona was resting and had apparently decided against testing him yet, but he did not want to leave the revelation of Hod’s new position to just anyone. Accordingly, he said, “When she wakens, Flory, prithee send a gillie to tell me. I have news for her that I’d liefer she not hear first from anyone else.”

  Flory’s eyes narrowed. “It’ll be summat she’ll dislike, I’m thinking.”

  “I’m afraid so, but she should hear it from me. I’ll be at the high table.”

  “Aye, sure, sir. I’ll send for ye when she wakes up.”

  “The laird be here to see ye, mistress,” Flory said as she plumped pillows on a bench in one of the window embrasures. “Ye’ll be more comfortable here, I’m thinking, whilst he’s wi’ ye. It dinna be fitting for ye to receive him in your bed.”

  Stifling a bubble of astonished laughter, Fiona said, “You are quite right, Flory. Tell him to wait.”

  “Now, mistress, it willna take ye a moment to shift to this window seat.”

  “I don’t move as quickly as I’d like yet,” Fiona said. “But hear me, Flory. Although I have slept most of today away, I shan’t do so tomorrow. I shall get up at my usual time, and I’ll break my fast in here. Then I mean to walk about and see to my usual duties. I’m fidgety and tired of staying in bed.”

  “Aye, mistress, we’ll see. D’ye want me to stay?”

  “Unless he sends you away, aye,” Fiona said. She could not imagine what Kirkhill might say to her that she would not want Flory to hear, but she scarcely knew the man, after all. He might say anything.

  The baby was sleeping but would wake soon to nurse, and her breasts were sore. She forgot about them when Kirkhill walked in.

  The searching look he gave her was warning enough that he was uncertain about how she would react to what he wanted to tell her.

  “What is it?” she asked. “You look as if you expect trouble.”