by Stobie Piel
The queen's entourage departed, leaving Miren standing in the foyer with Nathan, while Brent sank into a hard chair and Lady MacCallum waved at the door. She stepped back and the doormen drew in the doors, then exited silently. Nathan didn't like the way Irene MacCallum ran the manor. It seemed stricter than the army.
If he actually planned on remaining, he would do things differently. But he saw no need to disturb the management of the estate now if he soon placed it in other hands.
Molly explored the manor with a critical eye. She entered the sitting room, sniffed around, crossed the foyer, then examined the dining room. She headed for the staircase, but Irene stamped her foot. She seized Molly's collar and dragged her to the door.
"Out!"
Miren braced. "She was very well-behaved."
Irene turned, smiling over clenched teeth. "I think she needed to do her 'duty.'"
Miren was doubtful, but she didn't argue. With the queen gone, she felt less comfortable. She edged back toward the door, casually. "I think I'll just head on back to my cottage, too. Lovely party, Lady MacCallum."
Lady MacCallum smiled again, but her eyes remained black with distaste. The contorted expression made her look inhuman. Nathan found himself moving to Miren's side in protection.
"Her Majesty has favored you, Miss Lindsay. It is inappropriate that you remain in a crofter's hut."
Miren's gaze darted to Nathan. "I want to stay in my cottage."
Nathan took her arm. "And you will, beloved. In fact, I will walk you there."
Irene braced. "That also is inappropriate. You are engaged toward marriage. You mustn't spend any unchaperoned time alone together."
Nathan rolled his eyes. "In America, engaged couples are bundled together." It wasn't entirely true, but it worked. Lady MacCallum blanched as Nathan eased Miren toward the door. "It's necessary"he opened the door"so that they know they'll like each other in bed."
Miren gasped, Lady MacCallum gasped louder. Brent sighed. Nathan led Miren outside and closed the door behind them. He offered his arm. She took it, but remained intensely suspicious as they walked down the stairs.
The night was moonless and dark, though stars glittered inthe sky. Molly was waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking offended and hurt.
Miren slapped her thigh. ''Come along, Molly."
Nathan glanced down at Miren as she walked beside him. She looked dark and lovely, her hair reflecting the lanterns that circled the estate. Her hand rested on his arm; her stride matched his.
A sensation he'd never experienced grew within him. He felt shy.
"Unusual day." A foolish comment. He wished he'd waited for her to speak first.
"Yes." She didn't sound nervous. She drew a deep breath, as if enjoying the cool night air.
"You seemed to like the queen."
"Yes."
"Another disaster turned to good fortune. The luck of the Scots, perhaps."
Miren stopped, catching Nathan with her. He stumbled, then drew around to face her. "What's the matter?"
"Should you call me 'darling' again, I will strike you." She paused. "That also includes 'my sweet,' 'my precious angel,' or any other such ridiculous endearment."
He wanted to react with anger. Instead, he felt . . . hurt. "Miren, I"
"You what? Were you expecting me to thank you for this bit of luck you've tossed my way? It's the 'luck of the Irish,' sir, not the Scot. The Scots are long-suffering, and long-enduring. We are independent and stubborn, and we do not give up. I was well on my way to America without your interference."
"Interference?" Good, anger was forming, after all. "I saved you"
"From what?" Miren Lindsay had to be taught not to interrupt. "From embarrassment? Do you really think it matters to me if I look scandalous to the English nobility? To Lady MacCallum? To anyone?" She pointed her finger into his faceand shook it. "I can tolerate a moment of embarrassment, sir. I can tolerate laughter because I'm messy, or my hair is wrong, or because my sheep disrupted a noble's gathering. What I cannot tolerate is being used to further your crazy schemes."
Miren snatched her arm from his grasp. "I will walk myself to my cottage, thank you."
Miren started away, leaving Nathan dumbstruck in the road. He was angry and hurt, and had no idea what to do about it. "We need to talk."
She glanced back over her shoulder, more imperious than the queen. "And we will. After I have rested and seen to my wool. Tomorrow."
She hadn't been angry at first. At first, she'd enjoyed the charade. She especially enjoyed Nathan covered in mud and wool, his white shirt torn open at the collar. His beautiful dark hair in careless disarray. His shoulders were broader than other men's, his hair was darkereverything more than other men.
She had entered the manor's foyer and seen him, looking disgruntled and masculine. And she wanted him. She wanted his ruse to be true. Not for the sake of marriage and safety and a family of her own. She wanted him for the purely sensual pleasure of kissing him whenever she wanted, of sharing privacy every night. Of teasing and kissing and looking at each other the way the duke had looked at the duchess. As if they couldn't wait to be alone.
That was when her anger had flared. It hadn't been there when the queen ordered her to bathe. She'd enjoyed Lady MacCallum's tense fury when Queen Victoria ordered her bath made readyfor Miren's use. She'd enjoyed Molly seated on Muffin's tiny cushion while Lady MacCallum clutched the angry pest in white hands. And Queen Victoria again lavished praise on the "noble collie."
Now nothing seemed real beyond her anger. Miren stompeddown the road toward her cottage. Molly trotted along beside her, looking thoughtful. Simon came toward them, returning home after work. He looked happy. He looked Scottish.
Miren forced herself to smile. Simon yanked off his sailor's cap and bowed. "Miss Lindsay, you are now the proud owner of sixty quality fleece. Should bring you enough to purchase a fine ram. Now then, I'm trusting the Englishmen's queen didn't do you much insult after I . . . parted company?"
"She was very nice."
"Good sense on the woman. Sending in the menfolk. I'll be saying, young Nathaniel proved himself at the task. Suppose it's in their bloodmanual labor, that is." Simon wiped a dirty handkerchief over his brow. "Fine day. Fine. Forgotten how good it feels to get the job done."
"I'm sorry I missed it."
Simon took note of Miren's new dress. "Garbed ye up, did she?"
Miren nodded. "It was a strange day, in all."
"That it was, lass. That it was. Anything else happen as I was working?"
"I learned that Brent Edgington worked with Dr. Patterson recently and that Irene MacCallum's first husband and the doctor served together in India."
"Is that a fact? Well, well . . . Anything else?"
"Nathan asked me to marry him. I accepted. He will pay."
Miren ignored Simon's shocked expression and headed on toward the cottage. She touched his arm as she passed. "Thank you, Simon. I was lost without you. Good night."
She walked on, and Simon didn't stop her. She heard him grumbling and sputtering as he continued toward the manor. "Red man's got the sense of a pea. But they know their way around women, and no mistake."
He won't get around me. Miren marched on, determination filling her limbs. He'd probably expected to "walk her" straight into bed. To which she would certainly succumb "in gratitude." Ha! Miren fumed as she walked on.
He needed her for any number of purposes. The queen had revealed one. To fully insure his inheritance, he needed the queen's approval. She had given it, thanks to his blatant and disingenuous sentimentality in asking Miren to marry him.
Miren guessed two other reasons why Nathan needed her. He didn't really want to marry anyone, for one thing, and could easily throw her over. And if he was known to be engaged to Miren, it would fend off the hopes of other women, such as the host of "eligibles" that Lady MacCallum had invited to the garden party.
He couldn't waste time with that. Miren guessed he pref
erred a willing woman in bed, not a blushing would-be bride at a garden party. If one of those lovely young women was apt to his baser attentions, Miren had no doubt he would make love to her instead. He hadn't appeared exactly averse to Sarah's attentions, as it was.
Miren's anger churned as she reached the pasture gate. The latch had been repaired. The ewes lay in solemn bunches, silent in the night. Miren felt guilty. They looked unhappy. As if they'd trusted her, and she betrayed them.
She was feeling overly sentimental. No question. Sheep were meant for producing wool, and mutton, too. They weren't bred for display, or companionship, nor to carry a rider in splendor. Still, their lives were her responsibility. She would treat them with respect, because she believed that all living things were worthy of respect.
"You need something to focus on, a future," she told herself. "Tomorrow I'll search out a new ram, and in a short while you'll have lambs to care for."
Flip was curled up by the cottage door. He moved aside respectfully for Miren to enter, but he wouldn't come in when she invited him. "As you wish, Flip." Molly sniffed Flip, wagging her tail with more dignity than at their first meeting. He seemed pleased, in a restrained way, to see Molly, too.
"Maybe you'd like to stay out here?"
Molly swished past Miren into the cottage, hopped up tothe foot of the bed, and curled up on her pillow. Miren shook her head. She liked the cottage better than the manor. Here, she was free. No requirements, no delicate sculptures to avoid, no elegant crystal too easily shattered.
Miren poured water from the pitcher into her tin cup and drank. She pulled out her hairpins and brushed her hair with her mother's old brush. She extracted herself from Sarah's burgundy dress, hid the borrowed corset in a drawer, and found her own chemise. She'd washed it so often that the fabric was worn spider-thin, but it was comfortable.
Miren sat on the edge of her bed, and she felt lonely. Molly was already sleeping. Exhausted after a long day in privilege. Molly seemed more at ease in finery than Miren. More at ease than the queen herself.
Miren kissed her dog's forehead, then crawled under the farmer's quilt. She pulled her Lindsay tartan over the quilt any lay staring at the wooden ceiling. The bed was set in a cubby, safe and secure, decorated with pink and yellow floral curtains. Miren liked the bed, but she felt lonely.
Some nights, the sheep moved around the pasture making comforting sounds. Bells tinkling as they repositioned themselves. Low "baas" as they conversed in their private tongue. Tonight, there was silence. The ewes were exhausted, too.
I'm engaged. He doesn't really want me. But I'm engaged. Miren wanted to cry. Nothing had really changed. Nathan would see that the circumstances of their eventual "breakup" wouldn't reflect poorly on her reputation. Miren knew that. She could still go to Uncle Robert in America and build a new life.
Scottish people are practical. We accept life as it is, and we go on. Miren lay a long while in darkness. "I will go on."
Chapter Eight
All is not lost. If Nathan can't endure a night without viewing the young mistress, he'll soon be bringing herand her house petto the manor. I'll stay out of it, for now. As long as they're handling things well enough on their own.
Molly kept her eyes closed and feigned sleep.
"We need to talk."
Miren woke, saw a black shadow hovering over her, and screamed. He clamped his hand over her mouth and pinned her to the bed. "Quiet, you little demon."
Nathan. Miren's heart beat so fast that she couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't speak. Molly should have alerted her. Miren twisted her head free. "Where is my dog?"
Nathan gestured to the foot of the bed. "She's sleeping." A small, rumbly snore indicated the truth of his words.
"She didn't bark."
"She didn't wake. Not much of a watchdog, is she?"
Miren struggled to sit up. Her hair fell over her face. Sheshoved it back, fighting to gather her rattled senses. "She's always woken me before. Even when nothing was there. How did you sneak in here?"
"As Simon mentioned, Iroquois are a sneaky lot."
"He said nothing about Iroquois. He said you were sneaky . . . which I have no trouble believing."
Her shock faded, but her heartbeat refused to slow. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, casually. As if he belonged there. "What do you want?"
"I told you. We need to talk."
Miren looked out her window. She saw no trace of light. "It's still night."
Nathan shrugged. "It's maybe two-thirty, but it's morning. This can't wait."
Miren attempted a false yawn. "Why not? I'm tired."
Her yawn fooled him. He looked embarrassed. "Sleep late in the morning."
But not embarrassed enough. Miren sighed. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Our marriage."
"I hope you don't think me such a fool as to believe you really mean to marry me."
"Of course not. But I don't want you thinking I'm using you, either."
"You are."
"Only partly."
Miren laughed despite her anger. She cast her gaze heavenward and sighed. "I stand corrected."
Nathan adjusted his position on her bed, affording himself more comfort. "I was wrong to think you'd be embarrassed."
"True."
"I thought you needed me."
"Oh, please . . ."
"If I have to pay court to someone, it might as well be you."
Miren clasped her hand over her breast. "I am flattered,
more deeply than words can say." She remembered she wore only her light chemise, and edged her tartan blanket higher.
Nathan's gaze followed her motion. "I don't have to keep my true purpose in Scotland secret from you." His voice sounded huskier than normal. Miren fiddled with her blanket.
"There are times I wish you would. But go on."
"Ferreting out Edgington will be easier if he thinks I'm about to take a wife."
Miren nodded. She fought to keep her voice calm and low. "I see . . . I'm bait?" Her voice came shriller than she intended. "Because I'm expendable?" Way too shrill this time.
Nathan cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "I won't let anything happen to you, Miren. You have my word. Edgington won't act against you. He has to remove me first."
Nathan obviously intended this as reassurance, but it didn't work. "So you're the bait? So if he shoots you in the dark, or smothers you, or poisons you, your sacred soul will know who did it?"
"I'm smarter and quicker than that."
"You're not quicker than a bullet!"
"I am."
"You are the most conceited man alive. It is well you weren't born a nobleman. You'd be ruling the world beneath pure tyranny by now."
Nathan took her hands in his, easing them from her clasped tartan blanket. "You're nervous. I understand that. But I've faced worse enemies than Brent Edgington."
Miren felt exposed. Her tartan slid to her waist. The room was dark. He couldn't really see. Although the moon had risen and shone through her window.
"What makes you think Brent had anything to do with Dr. Patterson's actions?"
"'Brent?' You're calling him 'Brent' now?"
Miren arched her brow, trusting the moonlight to reveal her knowing surprise. "He mentioned that I should."
"Did he?"
The moon shed enough light to illuminate Nathan's frown. Miren smiled. "He did. When we were walking down to the pasture, before the shearing began."
"A man who would dally with another man's woman is not to be trusted."
"He said nothing about dallying. Just that since we'd be relatives soon, in a sense, we should cease formality."
"Brent hasn't 'ceased formality' with his mother."
"That is a problem for him, I know. Poor thing. She is a domineering person, no question. I do not envy him his childhood."
"His childhood was the best money can buy. He attended the best schools in England, traveled, had positions handed
to him . . ."
"You, of all people, should know that the quality of childhood exists beyond money and position."
Nathan didn't respond, so Miren knew her point was made. "I believe you're jealous. Odd for someone as conceited as yourself to be jealous, especially over someone as vulnerable and weak as Brent."
Nathan fiddled with Miren's blanket. "Weak and vulnerable people cause the most damage, Miren. They act and react out of fear. In their minds, that justifies anything."
"Like Muffin. You are right. But I don't think Brent is behind your brother's death, Nathan. He's too eager to please. He's more afraid of being the odd man our than about securing your inheritance."
"'My' inheritance was directed to Brent, before Kenneth MacCallum went looking for his long-lost son."
"Lady MacCallum is the obvious suspect. Or do you consider women incapable of such crimes?"
"After meeting you, woman, I feel confident a woman can commit any crime, get away with it, and come back to do it again. In your case, the power may well be supernatural."
"I'm not the one who creeps about in the night."
"I was worried about you."
"Why?"
Nathan hesitated. "You seemed angry when we parted. Quarrels disturb women."
"Not as much as men, it seems. I was sleeping comfortably. You, on the other hand, must have tossed and turned a good while before disturbing my peace."
His jaw set hard. Miren's former delight returned, and doubled. "Not at all."
"You were sleeping, then? Just happened to wake up and decide I'd slept long enough? Hmm?"
He twitched. "Miss Lindsay, you are an infuriating woman."
"Not at all." She wasn't sleepy; her voice came chipper as she teased him. "I am practical. Practical persons see reality with greater ease than high-strung, nervous individuals such as yourself." Miren paused, relishing Nathan's obvious tension. "Which is why we practical persons sleep so much better than those tense, worried . . . lovesick . . ."
He grabbed her, tossed aside her blanket, and kissed her. Miren pressed her hands against his chest, but he didn't stop. Her fingers softened and curled into his white shirt. His lips parted hers, his tongue found entrance, and he bent her back to her pillow.