Her Kilt-Clad Rogue

by Julie Moffett

  Especially for her heart.

  Chapter 2

  As soon as Genevieve left the library, Connor turned and slammed his fist against the mantle. A vase tumbled to the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces. Furious at himself for mishandling his first encounter with her, he kicked a jagged piece of the vase with his boot, feeling a savage rush of satisfaction when it slammed into the stone hearth and disintegrated into mostly dust.

  He’d never expected it from her—not from his sweet Genevieve. She had been so cool, so aloof. He had been certain that she would still harbor at least some feeling for him, but she had looked at him with such disdain, such derision.

  “Hell and damnation.” He stalked over to the highboy and yanked out a bottle of whiskey. Pouring himself a generous helping, he took a long swallow.

  Women were going to be the death of him.

  How could he have been so utterly wrong about her reaction? He’d been prepared for her resentment and possible disappointment in him. But she had simply acted as if what had happened between them that summer hadn’t mattered one whit. He hadn’t been prepared for that.

  It was a pleasurable enough time, she had said.

  “A pleasurable enough time?” He spoke the words to the empty room, his ire rising. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Her reaction changed everything. His plans, his thoughts, his dreams. He’d never imagined that he would have to win her back. Not the one woman who knew him better than he knew himself. Not the woman who had once told him that she loved him.

  The anger dissipated and he sank into his chair, whiskey glass still in hand. He rested a finger atop the rim and circled, reconsidering his approach. Perhaps he’d been wrong about their summer together. She’d been sixteen then and perhaps he’d only imagined they were soulmates. Or mayhap he’d only wished for them to be so exceedingly like-minded so he could forget about what lay ahead for him.

  He’d expected her wrath, hurt and disbelief. But never disinterest.

  He’d been selfish. He should have told her about his betrothal. But once he’d fallen under her spell, he didn’t dare. He’d wanted their time together to last for as long as it could. And then it had been over all too soon. He hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.

  God, how he had missed her all these years. His little English sprite. When she’d walked into the room today, he felt his throat close, his breath quicken. She appeared nearly the same as she had that summer ten years ago with impossible-to-tame brown hair, a wide mouth quick to smile and a short, pert nose. Her brown eyes held the same intelligence and wit, only now they held a hint of refinement and coolness.

  Perhaps they had both grown up too much to still be meant for each other.

  He sighed. The longer she stayed at the castle, the more she would learn about him, and the further away she would slip from his reach. Once again he’d acted selfishly and brought her here in his employ—but the timing had been right and he had so longed to see her again. Besides, he feared if she’d disappeared to London as a governess, he might never see her again. But pairing her with Ewan could result in disaster. It had been a calculated risk, but one he’d decided to take.

  Her indifference now forced him to reconsider. No, he’d been right to try. He’d be damned if he’d just let her slip away again.

  If she left of her own volition, there would be little else he could do.

  Genevieve decided to spend some quiet time alone in her room before supper. She needed time to settle her nerves and regain her composure. She intended to appear calm and refreshed, the way a proper governess should appear. Not shaken and unsettled like an untried girl of sixteen.

  She took her time changing into a clean chemise and stockings and brushing her brown hair until it gleamed. So as to not crease her gown before supper, she pulled on a light dressing gown and sat in the padded window seat, looking out at the castle grounds. Her room had a splendid view of the front courtyard, the gardens and an old stone gatehouse that apparently had once protected the entrance to the castle.

  She shifted on the seat to get a better view of the gardens. A warm spring had caused many of the flowers and shrubs to thrive, creating a lovely display of red, yellow and purple. Thinking of the flowers made her miss her own garden in Alnwick, and for a moment, her heart ached to be at home among familiar people and blooms. But that life was no more. She hoped the new owner of her home would tend to the garden with the same loving care she and her grandfather once had.

  A knock at the door startled her and she rose, clutching the dressing gown tighter to her chest. “Who is it?”

  “’Tis just me. Mrs. MacDougal.”

  Genevieve crossed the room and opened the door. The kindly housekeeper stood balancing a tray with tea in one hand. “I thought ye might be in need o’ a warm drink before supper.”

  Genevieve held the door open. “How very thoughtful of you.”

  The middle-aged housekeeper entered, placing the tray on the table next to the armchair. She gave Genevieve a smile. “Well, if that will be all, miss…”

  “Would you like to stay and have a cup? I mean, that is, if you have the time to indulge me.”

  The housekeeper seemed flattered at the suggestion. “Me? Are ye certain?”

  “I could use the company,” Genevieve admitted. “I feel a bit homesick at the moment.”

  “Well then, I suppose in the interest o’ providing a bit o’ comfort for a new arrival, I could join ye for a few minutes.” The housekeeper went to fetch another teacup. She soon returned carrying not only a cup but a small plate of sweet biscuits and, to Genevieve’s surprise, a bottle of spirits.

  “I dinna normally take a nip so early in the afternoon, but seeing as how ye are a wee homesick, I canna see how a small splash would hurt.” She poured the tea and then added a more-than-generous dollop of the spirits to each cup.

  Genevieve took a sip, the liquid searing a fiery trail down her throat. The housekeeper drank the tea without incident, making Genevieve wonder just how often she engaged in these afternoon nips.

  “You’ve made me feel quite welcome.”

  “Now isn’t that sweet o’ ye to say so. A good heart ye have, even if ye are English.”

  “A sentiment I hope many others here will share.”

  The housekeeper clucked her tongue. “Dinna ye fash yourself. No one at this castle would hold ye personally accountable for the actions o’ the English. Besides, ’tis well-known that the elder Mr. Douglas was quite fond of yer grandda. They were friends for a long time, were they no’?”

  “Yes, they were. They were fortunate that their mutual interests in trade bridged the more obvious divisions of politics.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “It’s quite an odd story, actually. Mr. Douglas needed a place to sell his lumber and my grandfather was more than happy to sell it to the shipyards in southern England. Our mutual locations near the sea made it convenient to transport the wood.” She took another sip of the tea and this time, it went down smoothly. “Looking back, I think my grandfather’s biggest mistake was not investing in a wider variety of goods. Fortunately the Douglases did not make the same error.”

  The housekeeper cradled the cup and saucer in her lap. “Well, it may be a wee bold o’ me to say, but ’twas a bit o’ a surprise when Connor told the staff that he’d invited ye here.”

  “Connor invited me?” Genevieve spoke in surprise and then blushed when she realized she had inadvertently used his Christian name. It was one thing for the housekeeper, who had probably known Connor since he was an infant, to call him that, but it was utterly improper for the new governess to address him as such. Trying to cover her mortifying slip, she added, “I thought it had been the elder Mr. Douglas’s idea.”

  The housekeeper shrugged, either not noticing or not caring about her slip. “I dinna know for sure. Mr. Douglas certainly took it hard when he heard your grandda had passed on. But ’twas Connor himself who made it known t
hat he intended to bring ye here for Ewan’s sake. But it caused quite a stir, it did.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because ’tis one thing to have English acquaintances, but ’tis another to bring one in to teach the young master. No’ that I mean any offense to ye personally by that.”

  Genevieve took a bite of her biscuit, considering the housekeeper’s words. “I understand that emotions over the war still run high in Scotland. I just hope everyone understands that I have no quarrel with them.”

  “I think they will. Especially since many o’ them do no’ envy your task.”

  “My task?”

  “Managing Ewan. It has been a verra difficult time for him.”

  “Well, that is certainly understandable, especially since his mother’s death was so sudden.”

  “Aye, ’twas a real tragedy.”

  “For both Mr. Douglas and Ewan, of course.”

  Genevieve saw a moment of true distress in the woman’s eyes before she lowered her gaze. “Aye, for all.”

  The conversation lulled and Genevieve had a feeling that there was something the housekeeper wished to tell her, but could not. Genevieve wondered that if she had asked the right question, something significant might be revealed. But she knew so very little of the situation and had no desire to appear too eager, even if she desperately wanted to know.

  But Mrs. MacDougal, bless her heart, apparently had a burning need to share the information anyway for she took another sip of her tea and leaned forward.

  “Seeing as how ye are a part o’ the household now, I dinna see the harm in telling ye what happened. I figure ye’d hear it soon enough anyway. Janet fell out of the tower window.”

  Genevieve nodded, already beginning to feel a bit light-headed from the spirits. “The elder Mr. Douglas informed me of such. But why would she do such a thing? Certainly she had everything she could want—a lovely home, a child and a husband.”

  Mrs. MacDougal shrugged. “I’m no’ privy to what happens ’tween a man and his wife. But I do know they used to argue quite fiercely. ’Twas an ill-fated match made for naught more than coin. ’Tis said Connor had his eye on young beauty Catherine Graham. But his da wouldn’t hear o’ it.”

  God’s mercy, another woman?

  Genevieve struggled to keep her train of thought. “But I thought the Douglases were quite well off. Surely he could not have been forced into a loveless match if he had strongly objected.”

  “Wealth is fleeting.” Mrs. MacDougal lowered her voice. “And these are precarious times for the Scots. Young Connor had a duty to his family to ensure their position and power.”

  How quickly her grandfather’s wealth had disappeared. “I suppose that is true.”

  “On the night she died, I heard them arguing. Janet ran from their room and up to the tower. I was in the corridor when she passed me, nearly knocking me over in her haste. Connor followed, looking mighty angry.” She paused for a moment, whether to catch her breath or for dramatic effect, Genevieve didn’t know. “Soon after that, Janet was found dead.”

  Genevieve shuddered. “An unspeakable tragedy.”

  Mrs. MacDougal leaned forward, balancing her teacup on her lap. “’Tis a wee bit odd that no one heard her scream, though.”

  A chill crept up Genevieve’s spine. “Surely you don’t think Connor had anything to do with it. I heard there was some kind of investigation.”

  “Only because Janet’s da outright suggested Connor had pushed her. An accusation o’ murder is no’ so easily dismissed, so Connor agreed to the investigation to clear his name.”

  “A sensible thing to do.”

  The housekeeper opened her mouth to say something more and then closed it. Perhaps feeling she had already said too much, she stood.

  “Well, I thank ye for inviting me to share tea and company.” Mrs. MacDougal gathered the cups and plates. “Ye are the first governess to do so and an Englishwoman nonetheless. ’Tis a mad world sometimes, it is no’?”

  Indeed, Genevieve had been thinking the same thing herself. Never in a hundred years had she pictured herself impoverished and at the mercy of a man who had once broken her heart and been accused of murdering his wife.

  “It is.” Genevieve rose and held the door open for the housekeeper.

  “Lucinda will be by soon to fetch ye for supper. I’ll bring a fresh pot o’ washing water for ye, if ye’d like.”

  “That would be most kind of you.”

  After she left, Genevieve leaned against the door, thinking about the strange things she had learned about Connor and his life at Caisteal na Mara. Suicide, murder and intrigue. Hadn’t her grandfather once told her such tales when she sat at his feet and listened with rapt attention? Now she was living in one of those tales and was not at all certain it was a place she wanted to be.

  Feeling a sudden chill, she walked to the wooden wardrobe. She pulled open the door, musing as to which gown would be most suitable for her first supper at the castle when suddenly she felt something drop onto her foot. Startled, she jumped and let out a shriek as a small snake writhed across the floor and disappeared out of sight under the bed. She took at least two more steps back, watching the bed warily in case the reptile reappeared. Then she heard a muffled giggle from behind the door that led to the schoolroom and her eyes narrowed. Before she could move a knock sounded on her door. Mrs. MacDougal’s worried voice carried through the wood.

  “Are ye all right in there, miss?”

  Genevieve walked across the room and took a deep breath before opening the door.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. MacDougal. I just…ah, dropped something on my foot.”

  The housekeeper looked at her curiously, holding a tray with a clean wash basin and a pitcher of fresh water. “Well, if ye are certain…”

  “Thank you.”

  With a shrug, the housekeeper replaced the pot and pitcher and then left. Genevieve dropped to her knees and gingerly lifted the bedcovers to peer underneath the bed where the snake had escaped. She could see nothing. For all she knew, the snake would rest there until she slept and then venture out under the cover of darkness. Furious, she stood and stalked across the room, throwing open the door to the schoolroom. The room was now empty.

  She crossed the schoolroom in four steps and knocked on the door to Ewan’s chamber. There was no answer, but she heard muffled movements from inside.

  She leaned against the door, raising her voice. “Ewan, I wanted to thank you for your small welcoming gift. And seeing how you are so fond of snakes, we shall start our lessons tomorrow with a thorough study of the reptile.”

  Turning on her heel, she marched back toward her room, when the door to Ewan’s room abruptly flew open. Hands on her hips, she turned to face him.

  “It didna bite ye, did it?” His eyes glinted with triumph.

  “I didn’t give it the opportunity to do so.”

  “Then why are ye fashing so?”

  “Did I say I was upset? I do, however, recall saying that you gave me an excellent idea for our science lesson tomorrow.”

  “Ye were frightened.”

  “I don’t frighten so easily.”

  “Ye will next time. And if ye tell my da about this, I’ll deny it.”

  “I don’t intend to tell him anything. As long as you are in the schoolroom bright and early in the morning.”

  He snorted. “Blackmail? Is that the best ye can do, English? I willna come. Ye canno’ make me.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. I can’t make you attend your lessons. But your father can. And he told me he intends to stay at the castle for some time until he’s convinced you are working hard at your lessons. It seems that you tend to perform in a more satisfactory manner when he is in residence.”

  Genevieve noticed he flinched at the mention of his father and she wondered if the reaction was motivated by fear or anger. Yet as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, she saw she was wrong on both points.

  “Da is staying?” She saw
unmistakable excitement in his eyes. “Did he say for how long?”

  Surprised, Genevieve realized the boy had just inadvertently revealed his weak spot. Ewan desperately loved his father.

  She shrugged, careful not to seem too interested. “He didn’t say exactly, but it is my understanding that it will be for at least a few weeks.”

  She watched as a shadow descended over his eyes. “Or mayhap longer if I tell him I dinna like ye or that ye aren’t learning me proper. And if I dinna learn proper, he’ll have to find a new governess. And next time she willna be English.”

  Genevieve stiffened, surprised by the venom in his voice. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be so easy, Ewan. I have no place else to go and your father has extended me his full support. Whether you like it or not, we are going to work together. I’ll expect you in the schoolroom tomorrow.”

  He gave her a malicious look. “Just see if ye can find me. This is my home, English, no’ yours. Mark my words, ye’ll be gone before ye’ve been here a fortnight.”

  Genevieve crossed her arms against her chest, refusing to be worried or intimidated by his threats, despite the fact that he could very well be correct. “No you mark my words, Ewan Douglas. You will learn and eventually come to enjoy it. I will not give up. And I warn you, we English are a very stubborn people, perhaps even as much as the Scottish.”

  “I willna come,” he shouted, slamming his door on her.

  Genevieve took a deep breath and returned to her room, more shaken than she cared to admit by the encounter. How in the world would she breech the hatred this boy had for her and her heritage? And what if she failed? Where would she go? The alternatives were too frightening to contemplate. She couldn’t fail, she wouldn’t.

  Nonetheless, she had no plan if the boy failed to show up for his lessons. Ewan was right. This was his castle. She did not know her way around here and could hardly be expected to spend the day looking for him. She felt assured she could count on Connor to help her the first few days, but after that, he’d certainly begin to be annoyed by her inability to manage the boy. She’d have to use her wits to figure this out.