Once Upon a Highland Summer

by Lecia Cornwall

  So this was how it felt to be loved by a man. She hadn’t known. She marveled at the joy she felt. It was magic indeed. His heart beat against hers, his breathing slowed to match hers, and he kissed her face, stroked her hair, and murmured to her in Gaelic. Was he professing his love? It didn’t matter. He moved off her, and she felt the chill of the night wind against the places he’d warmed. He pulled her against his side, and wrapped them both in his plaid.

  Caroline blinked up at the moon, and fell asleep in the warm sanctuary of her lover’s arms.

  Skylarks held their own raucous celebration as the first fingers of dawn reached over the horizon. They swooped and dove above the tower, wild with joy. Caroline snuggled deeper into the soft bedcovers, unwilling to wake just yet. She’d had the most wonderful dream, all about— The soft exhale of breath beside her made her open her eyes wide. She turned to look at the sleeping profile of Alec MacNabb, lying beside her, sharing the soft blanket.

  It hadn’t been a dream. Panic gripped her. She looked beneath the covers, and realized she was indeed naked. Another peek told her he was likewise unclothed. She dropped the covers, feeling hot blood filling not just her cheeks but her whole body. It wasn’t a dream. She had jumped the fire by his side, danced with him, kissed him, and— She stifled a gasp. She wondered where her clothes were, and saw the linen gown reclining over a chunk of masonry, half covering the carving of a smirking face. The wilted crown of flowers sat askew over carved eyes, a laughing mouth, mocking her. She glanced at Alec again. His face was soft and boyish in his sleep. Long lashes lay against his stubbled cheeks; his mouth was soft, sweet.

  Her heart flipped in her chest. He was magnificent. She recalled the pleasure he’d given her quite clearly, the kisses, the caresses . . . It had been the most incredible, unforgettable night of her life.

  It had also been the most foolish thing she’d ever done. She was governess to Alec’s sisters, a servant in his household. Her cheeks burned at the thought.

  The girls. She sat up with a gasp. If she’d ended up here in the tower in a compromising position, where on earth were they? She slipped carefully out from under the warm plaid and scooted around his sleeping figure to snatch up her gown. It was cold as she pulled it over her head and belted it with Sorcha’s ribbon. The dress was wrinkled and stained with telltale green marks of moss, the black of soot, but it couldn’t be helped. She glanced up at the sky, pink with promise, and sent up a prayer that it was still early enough that she could make it back to the castle unseen. She cast one last look at him as he lay asleep, as beautiful as an angel, and hurried out into the predawn darkness.

  “Don’t you think we should wake him, send him after her?” Angus asked as Caroline fled down the hillside, her hair trailing behind her in wild, love-tangled curls. He’d loved to coil Georgiana’s curls around his finger as she lay in his arms after they’d made love.

  Georgiana shook her head. “No, she’ll need time to think, to realize . . .”

  “What?” Angus prompted when she didn’t finish. He grinned. “Let me guess. She’ll need time to realize that it was the best night o’ her life.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. “She’ll need time to realize that she loves him, despite what happened here this night.”

  “Despite it?” Angus cried. “Because of it, more like.”

  Georgiana set her hands on her hips and glared at him. “A little rough wooing and you think she can’t live without him, that no other man—any other man—could do what he did? How arrogant you are! She was a virgin, and he seduced her in a crumbling tower, on the hard ground.”

  Angus pushed his cap back on his head, staring at the telltale glitter in her eyes. She floated before him, but her eyes were on Caroline. He felt an almost overwhelming wave of sadness. “I thought this was what you intended to happen between them. It was the same for us, was it not? You were a virgin the night when we—” He stopped to clear his throat. “Are ye saying that ye regret what we did?”

  She fixed her eyes on him. “Of course not. I regret that it was the one and only time, and that nothing ever lived up to that moment again. Oh Angus, have we made a mistake? What if we’ve only caused them more unhappiness, sentenced them to a lifetime of regret and pain?”

  He came closer, raised his hand to her cheek, felt nothing but frustration that he could not touch her, even to offer comfort. “Is there a battle tomorrow I don’t know of? He’s got no brothers to drag him away from the lass, and she’s no father to drag her back to England. They’re here, together. They aren’t going anywhere. Why, later this morning, he’ll wake up and return to the castle. He’ll seek her out, and drop to one knee and—”

  Georgiana whooped as Alec ran right through his grandfather’s shade, his plaid belted askew as he tried to pull on his shirt and run down the hill at the same time. They stared after him as he leaped over the last embers of the dying Midsummer fire, dodging the folk still sleeping peacefully in the dew-soaked grass, before pausing, returning to look into their sleeping faces.

  “There now, you see?” Angus said smugly, straightening his plaid. “He’s looking for her now.”

  “Sophie?” They turned at the sound of Alec’s whisper. “Are you here?”

  “Sophie?” Georgiana repeated, her horrified whisper rustling the trees, startling a bird into panicked flight. “He still thinks Caroline is someone named Sophie? Even after—”

  Angus felt a hard knot of trepidation in his gut. He watched his grandson search among the sleeping lasses for the woman he’d just spent the night with, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.

  “They couldna introduce themselves?” Angus asked. “Just a potion, ye said, woman. That’s all it would take and everything would unfold as it should, and the curse would end.”

  “It must have been too strong, too much meadowsweet, perhaps,” Georgiana fretted.

  “It was only the potion, don’t you see? She isn’t the right woman, or he isn’t the right man!” Angus said angrily. “It didn’t work.”

  Georgiana’s eyes widened. “How can you say that? You saw how they were dancing, the passion in their eyes—”

  “ ’Twas the ale and the firelight, nothing more,” Angus grumbled. “He’s obviously in love with someone else, someone named Sophie.”

  Georgiana shook her head, wringing her hands. “No, it’s not possible! If he loves this Sophie, then why is he here, dallying with Caroline?”

  Angus gave her a level look. “He’s a man, gràdhach, and she’s a lovely lass.”

  “Oh, what have we done?” Georgiana cried. “I must go to Caroline, though heaven knows what I can do to help her now. Nothing, nothing at all.”

  Angus watched her fade away against the dawn, and stared at Alec, who was staring up at the tower as if he were daft and bewitched both. Angus recalled exactly that feeling. He’d stood in the same spot on a Midsummer morning long ago, unable to think of anything or anyone but Georgiana, and the sweetness of the night in her arms. Even when his brothers had climbed the hill to take him, he’d stood there, unable to move for pure love, for joy. He’d opened his mouth as they reached him, ready to declare his love for Georgiana, but Niall had drawn back his fist and punched the grin off his face. The next thing he knew he was waking up on a ship, sick as a dog. He’d certainly felt daft and bewildered then too, and for an entirely different reason.

  Angus watched as Alec turned to look down at the road. There was a grand coach trundling along the rutted track, followed by several carts, all heavily laden. He frowned at the grand gold crest on the side of the coach, at the six matched white horses that drew the vehicle toward Glenlorne. Angus drifted closer to his grandson’s side. “Now who’s this coming?” he asked, though he knew Alec could not hear him.

  “Sophie,” Alec murmured, and took off running down the hillside.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Caroline slipped through the kitchen door and took the stairs two at a time, heading for the girls’ shared bedchamber
first of all, dreading what she might find—or not find—there. She almost sagged to the floor in relief when she saw three heads on three pillows, all fast asleep, with nothing more dangerous than a few wilted wildflowers littering the floor. She drew the blanket up around Sorcha’s chin, and went to her own room.

  She shut the door and leaned on it for a moment. No one had seen her. Relief flooded her, and she crossed to scrub her face in cold water, though it did nothing to cool the burn of her cheeks. She stared into the mirror, regarding her face in the first rays of the sun. Did she look different?

  Of course she did. Her hair was a wild tangle, and her lips were pink and swollen from his kisses. The mere thought of his mouth on hers made her knees weaken with desire for more. She watched hot blood fill her face from chin to hairline, and her eyes—oh, how would she ever hide the look in her eyes? They glowed, shone, and there was a soft, bemused look that hadn’t been there before. Was it love, or just the satisfaction of a woman who had been well pleasured by a skilled lover? She knew little about such things—well, before last night. She’d heard servants gossiping in hushed tones, of course, their own eyes bright, their cheeks as flushed as hers were now. She held on to the edge of the table, her knees suddenly wobbly, her body sore and sated. She wanted nothing more than to sink into the comfort of her bed and sleep, and dream of Alec MacNabb and what had occurred between them in the tower.

  But the sun was coming up and she had duties to attend to. She washed her face again, vainly trying to scrub away the evidence. She chose the primmest gown she could find, dull blue and high-necked. She twisted her hair into a skin-pulling knot until not a curl remained, and fastened it with an army of pins.

  Still, when she looked into the mirror, her cheeks were flushed, her mouth still lush. Yes, she understood what the servants had been gossiping about now. She turned away from the mirror. She would simply act as if nothing at all had happened. She’d keep her eyes downcast, and her lips primly pursed. Surely no one would dare to ask questions, to ask where she’d disappeared to last night. If they did, she’d simply tell them—

  She reached the door with her chin high and stopped, her hand on the latch. Tell them what? There were no words to explain. And whatever would she say to Alec MacNabb when—if—she saw him? Oh lud!

  She stepped back and stared at the latch. She’d say that it had been a mistake—no, not a mistake—an impulse. Not that she was the impulsive sort. Usually. Saying it was the spirit of the evening might sound better—the dancing, the smoke from the fire. It had all made her—well, “giddy” might be one word she could use. She would make it clear that she did make a habit of doing such things, and her behavior of last night would not be repeated. Ever. She put her hand on the latch again. “There, that should explain things.”

  She drew back again. Oh, but if he smiled at her the way he had looked at her across the fire, or kissed her, she would be lost all over again. She raised shaking fingers to her hot cheek. Perhaps it would be better to find a way to avoid him altogether—at least until he forgot. How long did it take a man to forget a casual conquest in a dark tower? It was certainly something she’d never forget, even if she lived to be as old as the tower itself. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  She came out of the tower and nearly collided with a maid coming along the main hall with tea and toast for Devina. The girl simply nodded back and went on her way without saying a word about flushed cheeks or knowing eyes. Caroline let out the breath she was holding. She had passed the first hurdle. She headed for the stairs with a smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alec barely made it back to the castle in time to change his clothes, comb his hair, and wipe the scent of his lover from his skin. She had obviously slipped away when he’d fallen asleep and had gone back to wherever she and her father were lodging, and was now about to make a formal arrival at Glenlorne.

  He grinned as he tied his cravat, forgoing Highland dress for English finery. Surely the fact that it was barely past dawn and she was arriving with carts filled with trunks and boxes meant that she had enjoyed last night as much as he had, was eager to marry him and repeat the pleasure, this time in his bed as his wife.

  He looked at the grand MacNabb bed, and pictured her there. Beautiful, magnificent, luscious Sophie. He hoped he hadn’t been too rough, too overwhelming for her. If her moans of desire and sighs of pleasure were anything to go by, she’d been well satisfied. As was he. He hadn’t slept so deeply or so well in a very long time as he had with her in his arms, sated and happy, his mind at peace. He’d been disappointed when he woke alone. She had the damnedest way of disappearing. He’d wondered if she’d been real, but the taste of her in his fingers, the sight of her Midsummer crown was proof enough.

  It didn’t matter. She was here now. He straightened his cravat, and smoothed a hand over his hair, and left his room.

  He paused at the top of the stairs. How should he greet her? He could hardly sweep her into his arms in front of her father and kiss her the way he had last night. Nor could he do what he really wanted and carry her up to his chamber for the rest of the day, though he was aroused just thinking about it.

  He straightened his cuffs and headed down the stairs slowly with the proper dignity of an earl. He would play it however she liked. He would pretend they were total strangers if she wished, bow over her hand and call her my lady, even stand by patiently while proper introductions were made. He would offer his arm, and ask her politely how the journey from London was, and if it had tired her. He grinned. She must be tired indeed this morning.

  “Alec, the grandest coach just arrived. Who’s here?” Sorcha demanded, racing down the hall.

  Megan followed her sister. “There’s a crest on the side of the carriage!”

  “It’s the grandest thing I’ve ever seen—six horses, all perfectly matched. Is it the Prince Regent, perhaps?” Alanna paused briefly as she reached Alec, her eyes shining. “Is this part of our presents?”

  Alec felt pride swell his in his breast. “Yes. In fact it’s the best present of all,” he said.

  She was already alighting from the coach when he reached the front steps, her head down, her hand on the sleeve of a footman wearing Bray livery. He couldn’t see her face beneath her bonnet. It was more confection than hat, covered with a froth of fluffy feathers, blue and pink and green, with a stuffed yellow bird perched on one side. The poor stuffed fledgling stared up at Alec with bug-eyed surprise. Her dress was pink, her stylish little spencer jacket green. He let his eyes linger over her figure. Odd. He had thought she was taller, not as curvaceous as she appeared now. He tried to imagine her breasts the way he’d seen them in the moonlight, perfect, white, round, and sweetly filling his hands. He found his hand clenching, trying to compare memory with what he saw now. Perhaps it was the dress, or the feminine unmentionables beneath, but she looked far better endowed this morning. He dropped his hand to his side.

  He saw her mouth move beneath the brim as she spoke to the footman, her bonnet still hiding the rest of her face.

  He felt his gut tense as a gentleman exited the coach, and stepped in front of Sophie, blocking Alec’s view of her. The man looked over his shoulder and nodded to him.

  “Good morning, Your Lordship. I’m the Reverend Reginald Parfitt,” the man said, coming up the steps. “I had the pleasure of escorting Lady Sophie and her maid from London at her father’s request.” He held out his hand and Alec shook it, trying to see past him.

  Sophie had turned to watch the maid descend from the carriage, carrying a hatbox. Alec was aware that Reverend Parfitt was speaking to him, and the girls were pressing in on him, but he kept his eyes on Sophie, desperate now to see her. He wanted to rush down the steps, tear the damned silly bonnet off her head, bend her over his arm, and kiss her senseless; and he didn’t give a damn who was watching him do it. He started forward.

  And that’s when Lady Sophie Ellison looked up at him.

  Alec’s knees turned to wate
r, and he stopped where he was, and stared. He met a pair of ice blue eyes under a tidal wave of flaxen curls. Hadn’t they been hazel last night? And her hair had been red. He couldn’t have imagined that, could he?

  It wasn’t her. This woman was a complete stranger.

  Alec felt the smile dripping off his face like melting wax. His body went numb, his outstretched fingers curled back into his side.

  It wasn’t her.

  “May I present Lady Sophie Ellison?” Parfitt said, and Alec dragged his eyes away from her face, and stared at him instead. A long moment of silence followed, until the churchman’s brow furrowed. “My lord earl?” he murmured.

  Alec blinked. Was it possible he’d been seeing things? Perhaps she’d been in disguise, or looked different without a bird-topped bonnet on her head. He peered at her again.

  It wasn’t her.

  Her wide blue eyes flicked around her like nervous hummingbirds, darting over the castle, his sisters, and himself. There was no hint of recognition. Her gaze moved on again, paused on something behind him. Her smile bloomed.

  “Oh!” she cried. “Look, it’s Lady Caroline!” She pushed past him, rushing up the steps, and Alec turned.

  He had a glimpse of red hair, of white skin and wide hazel eyes for an instant before they were swallowed up in Sophie’s embrace and the face of his lover was hidden behind the froth of Lady Sophie’s feather bonnet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “You must be surprised to see me, and not Lord Bray,” Parfitt said. “His Lordship had pressing matters of business to attend. He sent me instead.” The clergyman patted his pocket. “Never fear. I come equipped with a marriage license. Is Lord Somerson visiting Glenlorne at present?”

  Alec forced his eyes away from the two women at the top of the steps and turned to look at Parfitt. “Somerson? Why would he be here?”