by Diana Lloyd
“Give me a few minutes and you will be.”
“No, I mean, did I do it right?”
“I can’t imagine there being a wrong way for that particular act, dear.”
“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to use my teeth or not, but I decided that might be painful.”
“I stand corrected, there is a wrong way. You made a wise choice, and my cock thanks you.” He began caressing her nipple as he spoke, tweaking it, rolling it between his fingers. “Dare I ask where you learned about that act?”
She considered and quickly dismissed the thought of lying to him about it. “I saw a picture in a book.” She decided the truth with no elaboration would suit the situation.
She felt rather than heard him chuckle at her admission. “Just when I think you could surprise me no more you manage to shock me to the bone.” He was still caressing her as he spoke, almost absentmindedly, as if his hand couldn’t help but cradle her breast.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hush, mo chridhe, I am well pleased and humbled by your efforts to have me well attended to in the bedchamber. I only hope I can keep you as satisfied as you keep me.” He moved his hand has he spoke until it rested at the juncture of her thighs. He pressed his palm against her until his warmth spread into her skin and the now familiar awareness gathered there, ready for him. “I shall work diligently toward that goal.”
…
With Quin and the coachman taking care of that day’s travel arrangements, Elsinore was left to share breakfast with the taciturn footman, Angus. Staring across the table at the silent man did little to dampen her mood. Last night had been a breakthrough, she was sure of it. Quin still retreated into somber contemplation more than she liked, but in those few precious minutes that he allowed himself to just be her husband, she was making a mark on his heart.
What was it Oglethorpe called it? Cultural tempering. She was tempering his heart. According to the book, it was the scientific way to convince a skittish pup to come to trust its trainer and embrace the ways of the hunt. She was being scientific. The thought made her smile.
“Are ye going to eat that?”
The gruff words from the usually silent Angus, startled her out of her self-congratulations. She looked down at the plate between them and the single small, round bannock left upon it. She’d been so lost in thought she couldn’t remember if she’d eaten anything. Oh well, the pot of hot chocolate would have to do. “Help yourself.”
Quin still wore the satisfied grin he’d gained earlier after their morning session of lovemaking. She wasn’t the only one willing to try new things, and he proved himself not only imaginative but of remarkable stamina as well. A blush reddened her cheeks as he and the coachman approached.
“Is it warm in here?” He reached out and brushed his finger against her cheek.
“’Twas warm upstairs, but I’m sure the sea air will be most invigorating.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” His grin erupted into a full smile as he held out his arm to escort her to the ship and the last leg of their long journey.
Although not a large ship compared to the others in the harbor, the Mergory was the largest vessel Elsinore had ever been aboard. It was strange to think that in one direction lay the open ocean where she might land anywhere in the world, but in the other direction, lay her life with, or perhaps without, Quin.
Not wanting to offend the captain or his crew, Elsinore whispered her question after they were shown to their cabin. “It’s rather small, isn’t it? The boat—ship, I mean.”
“The Mergory is meant to travel up the Forth, not far out into the ocean. The shallow draft will get us nearly all the way to Stirling. It will cut our journey by at least a day and more likely two from what I’ve heard of the state of the roads hereabouts. Don’t tell me you’re worried? You? The brave first mate of the Serpentine Sinker?”
“That trip was meant as a lark. It only turned serious when those young men attacked us.” Elsinore shuddered as she recalled the feeling of being trapped beneath the cold, rushing water.
“If history repeats itself, and I’m betting it won’t, I’ll simply jump in and save you again.” He smiled brightly, but she knew him well enough now to know that it was his artificial smile, the one he pasted on his face when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was really thinking.
“You’re concerned, too,” she accused.
He replied with nothing more than a shake of his head and a sound she’d begun to think of as the Scottish noise, which was a cross between a grunt and a throat clearing. A sound she’d not heard Quin use until he set foot back on Scottish soil. It was a noise open to much interpretation.
“Was that a rebuttal?”
“I’ll keep you safe. You have my word as a gentleman and as your husband.” His statement hung in the salt water scented air between them. His word. Oh, yes, the word of the gentleman who stated his desire to have her set aside. But not, of course, until after she’d provided him with an heir.
“Of course.” It was the only response she trusted herself to say aloud. It was the one subject that hung between them like an invisible curtain. She was making progress every day, winning his heart little by little. But, for every victory, she lost a bit of her own heart to him. They’d both avoided discussing the subject, as if to hear his plans for her out loud was akin to etching them into stone, making them unalterable. Time was not on her side.
Back up on deck, she watched Edinburgh slip away behind them as the Mergory heaved its way out of the ocean currents and up the river Forth.
“If you’ll be fine here for a few moments”—Quin kept one hand on his hat as he spoke—“I’d like to have a word with the captain and check on the coach.” Their traveling coach had been loaded aboard by an elaborate tackle and pulley system that had been both mesmerizing and terrifying to watch as their coach swung out over the water, twisted in the wind, and was finally lowered slowly down to the deck and lashed into place with thick ropes.
Elsinore nodded and pulled her collar tighter. The wind was still gusting off the ocean, carrying with it the scent of salt, fish, and faraway places that she would never see. Wisps of hair escaped their pins and tickled the sides of her face. For a few minutes, she was content with watching flashes of morning sun play off the crests of waves while being serenaded by the cries of the sea birds that followed the ships in and out of the harbor.
A sudden, sharp pang of homesickness caught her unawares, and she wondered what her parents were doing at that very moment. Elsinore closed her eyes to better picture the scene. Breakfast would be laid out on the sideboard. Kippers and eggs for her father and a pot of lovely marmalade and toast for her mother. Father’s papers would be ironed and ready for him to read while her mother nattered on about the household.
She smiled then, knowing that neither of them cared that he wasn’t really listening. Her mother could be recounting an invasion of lobsters in the upstairs hallway and father would only nod and mutter something like “That’s nice, dear.” And yet, they’d done it nearly every morning for as long as Elsinore could remember. If only her mother had discovered Oglethorpe.
“You well, miss?” She’d almost forgotten where she was before the sailor’s gruff voice brought her back to the ship’s deck and far away from the family breakfast room.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, but the wind snatched her words away and blew them out to sea. The sailor shrugged, tugged at his forelock, and, apparently deciding she was in no imminent danger of drowning, turned and walked away.
A misty, salt-scented gust of wind hit the deck with the next wave, and she clutched the rail more tightly. Too late she realized she should have clutched at her bonnet instead, as it was snatched from her head and carried out to a watery grave. “Oh,” she cried out, too late to save it. She watched it drift away with a small frown. It hadn’t been her favorite, that one had been ruined in the Serpentine, but it was smartly styled and matched her redingote perfectly
.
Drat.
It took no more than an additional minute for her hair to be whipped into a frenzy around her head. If she had a proper maid, the pins might have held, but there were other advantages to having her husband tend to her. She’d find a good scarf back in their cabin and at the very least keep the hair out of her eyes so she might enjoy the scenery.
Leaving her perch at the rail, Elsinore walked toward their tethered coach expecting to encounter Quin at any moment, but there was no sign of him. If he returned and she wasn’t standing at the rail where he’d left her, would he think she’d fallen overboard? She waited another few minutes before deciding to take the risk and return to their cabin to fetch a scarf.
She was reaching for the latch to their cabin when she heard his voice from the other side of the closed door. What she heard brought her up short, and she drew her hand back and inclined her head to listen more closely.
“…by her side. Do you understand?”
“Aye. I’m not to let yer lady out of my sight.” This from the footman, Angus.
“And keep your powder dry. Be ready for anything, but above all else be discreet. She mustn’t know you’re following her or why. I don’t want her to become suspicious. I can’t afford having her wander out of our sight as she did at the Three Finches. It cannot happen again, do you understand?”
Elsinore didn’t hear Angus’s response, but she could picture the large man nodding his head in agreement. So, there it was. How had she fooled herself into thinking she was making any progress with Quin? He was hiding something from her. Something big. Perhaps the skull and crossbones symbol she’d found in his wallet was more significant than she at first thought. Whatever it was, he didn’t want her to know.
She reached her hand a few inches closer to the door latch, intending to burst in and demand to know the truth. But just before her fingertips brushed against the worn metal, the latch began to turn from the inside. Scurrying back to the ladder, she pretended to just be coming down to their cabin. Angus passed by her with a nod and a tug at his hat. Quin stood in the doorway to their cabin, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“I need a scarf,” she explained as she pushed wayward strands of hair away from her face and squeezed past him into the room.
“It might be best you stay below.” His voice was tight with caution.
“I don’t mind a bit of wind. It’s still a beautiful day with plenty to see.”
“I’m only thinking of your safety.”
“I’m not as frail as all that.” She wrapped a bright red silk scarf around her head and tied it neatly under her chin before turning back to the door.
With a shrug, Quin stepped aside. “I’ll accompany you.”
“As you wish.” She caught his eye as she walked past him. He knew. Or, at least, he suspected she’d overheard them. Let him stew on that for a while. She had plans of her own to make. And finding out what he was hiding from her became her new priority.
Chapter Sixteen
“Once training has begun, watch your new hound with keen eye. Bad habits will reappear with lack of reward.” Oglethorpe’s Treatise on the Obedient Canine
Elsinore pushed the curtains open as wide as she could and stared out the coach’s small window to get a better look at the scenery. It was a grand view with very little to see. Scotland was so very…green. Green rolling hills interrupted by the occasional farmhouse or hut, each with either a hardy blanket of bright green moss or a grass-green roof, a few trees, each with its own distinct foliage, huddled together in bouquets of greenery. And gray rock. Scotland’s flag should surely be green and gray rather than the blue and white of St. Andrew’s cross.
They should be arriving at Lochwode by late afternoon. Quin quit the coach more than an hour ago in favor of his horse, riding ahead to inform his staff of their arrival. Tongues must have wagged a breeze across the estate when the wagon with her trunks arrived. Even now, tenants were taking note of the passing coach wondering at the new mistress that sat within. It was more likely Quin’s instruction to his staff echoed those given to Angus. They were to spy upon her.
Coward, she scolded herself for at least the tenth time. She wanted to know why and yet she could not face the possibility that his beautiful mouth would smile and kiss her as he uttered lies. She had no family here, no friends, and nowhere else to go. Did she owe him the indulgence of her trust?
Maybe, she tried to convince herself, he was simply being overcautious. After all, she was an outsider in a country not always on good terms with England. Perhaps, the household staff were even now folding up Holland cloths, dusting chandeliers, and placing fresh-cut flowers from the gardens into fine china vases. Right. And then the Prince Regent and Lord Byron would stop by for tea.
Reaching out she pulled her red traveling bag over to the seat next to her. Removing both thin volumes, Elsinore wondered which one would be of more value to her once she’d arrived at her new home.
“So, Mr. Oglethorpe,” she said out loud as she slipped the other book back into her case and arranged her night robe to cover it. “What advice have you for the wife of a suspicious hound?” She leafed through the book, not really expecting to find anything. No, she sighed, surely my situation is just too dire.
And then she saw it. Not so much as a chapter, barely even a paragraph—yet, there it was, a section titled “The Distrustful Hound.”
“Well, my brilliant Mr. Oglethorpe,” she mused, “haven’t you just thought of everything?” She shifted closer to the window to take advantage of the sunlight and began to read. A hound that cannot trust his master is a sorry cur indeed. Hounds are not born wary and suspicious; they become so from a deeply distressing experience.
Like a son’s death, she thought, as she continued reading. Consistency and patience can win over the flawed animal. Well, that at least was a bit hopeful.
“But how, Mr. Oglethorpe?” she asked just as the coach’s wheels hit a rut in the road, jostling the book from her hands and halfway out the window. “Get back here.” She snatched it back from the abyss and clutched it to her bosom. She couldn’t allow such a tragedy with her possible salvation only a few sentences away. Elsinore inched back to the window and clutched the book more tightly as she continued reading.
Oglethorpe’s suggestions were brief but clear. Be patient, it stated. Don’t force contact; your hound will make the first move when ready. Walk your hound daily. Run, jump, and play with your hound until you are an accepted member of his pack. Offer the hound treats when it reacts favorably; hand-feeding your hound will do wonders to build trust. Your hound will not only come to trust but will learn to look forward to its master’s presence each day.
Hand feeding? She had a sudden vision of Quin sitting at her knee as she fed him bits of haggis and laughed out loud. Oh, if Oglethorpe only knew how his book was being used. As far as the running, jumping, and playing part—well, the other book in her possession should take care of that instruction.
“What’s so funny?” Elsinore jumped at the sound of Quin’s voice and the book flew from her hands and thudded against the opposite side of the coach as she cried out in alarm.
“Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You surprised me that’s all.” Leaving the book where it lay on the floor of the coach and out of his sight, Elsinore leaned a little farther out the window. “That’s not Archie—who is this fine fellow you’re riding?”
“This exquisite equine specimen is none other than Twist, my stallion.”
“What an odd name. I thought you didn’t like stallions.”
“Archie deserved a rest, and Twist here, so named for a particularly devastating leaping maneuver he perfected whilst being broke to saddle, needed some exercise.” Quin reached down and ruffled the animal’s long mane. “For the record, I never said I disliked them. I said they were mean and willful, hardly suitable for crowded city living. Here, in the country, my biggest fear is only that he’ll make for a stout tree in an at
tempt to scrape me off, not trample innocent bystanders to death.”
“So, I shouldn’t try to pet him?” she teased.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Did you ride back because you missed my good company?” Elsinore had backed away from the window just far enough so that, if she stretched very far, she could reach her dropped book with her right foot. If Quin thought to join her back in the coach for their arrival at his estate, she didn’t want him to see it.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“I need to find my bonnet,” Elsinore explained. “If we are to arrive soon, I want to look my best.”
“It’s on your head.” Quin looked at her suspiciously. “Are you unwell?”
“Just anxious.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about. They’ve much more to be anxious about than you.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” she said as she managed to slide the book close enough that she could snatch it up and stuff it back into her open bag. “Tell me about them.”
“The house staff is quite small,” he began. “There are only a dozen or so that you’ll have to deal with. I’ve already mentioned Brigit, the cook.”
“Mentioned? More like warned.”
“Nevertheless, my father once made me promise that I would honor clan alliances and never turn her out. I offered to pension her off when he died, but she would have none of it. She said the only way she’s leaving that house is toes up, if you get my meaning.”
“I’m sure we’ll get along just fine,” she added with a nervous smile.
He smiled back, but to her it looked tight and false.
“Your staff will not like my being English, will they?”
Quin thought for a bit before turning his head to look her in the eye. “They are servants and will have nothing to say on the matter.”
“They’ll have plenty to say about it, they just won’t say it to you.”
“I will not tolerate anyone being disrespectful to you. The household staff is small, but you may add to it as you see fit. Stirling has a quarterly mop fair or you could have your parents send someone from London if you prefer. That is”—he turned away as if he’d developed a sudden interest in the closest copse of trees—“if there’s time.”