Her Kilt-Clad Rogue

by Julie Moffett

  Genevieve sat in a chair next to Ewan’s bed, reading him a story. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep, but she refused to leave the boy alone. He’d slept only a few hours and then awoke in pain as the morning sun peeked through the drapery. She’d given him a tonic and now he sat propped up, his injured shoulder bound snug in a sling made with white linen strips. A soft breeze wafted through the room while outside the open window, a light summer drizzle fell. Genevieve wondered if the rain would interfere with the foxhunt, which, as far as she knew, was still planned for tomorrow morning.

  Ewan shifted against the pillows. “I got ye in trouble wi’ Da.”

  She shook her head. “No, I got myself in trouble.”

  “Will ye have to leave?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Nay, I’d rather ye stayed.”

  “Well that certainly is a change of heart from when I first arrived.”

  He plucked nervously at his sheets. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Fitzsimmons, there is something else I want to ask ye. Something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

  “You may ask me anything.”

  He nodded, his face paling a bit. “Do ye think my da is a murderer?”

  A soft gasp escaped her. “What did you say?”

  “Do ye think my da killed my mum?” He repeated the words in a rush as if she’d forbid him to say it again.

  Stunned, she groped for words. “Ewan, why would you think such a thing?”

  His eyes filled with tears. “I saw him. That night. The night mum died.”

  Dread crawled up her spine. “You saw what?”

  “They were arguing. He followed her to the tower. I crept up the stairs to listen. They were fighting…about me.”

  The pain and guilt in the boy’s eyes tore at her heart. “Ewan, sometimes people argue about many things, even their own children, but it doesn’t mean they don’t love them. It’s actually quite a normal occurrence.”

  Ewan pressed his lips together. “M-Mum was crying and Da was yelling at her. I heard him say he didn’t love her and he wished he’d never wed her. Then suddenly ’twas quiet. I thought Da was leaving so I ran downstairs and hid. A minute later, I saw him come down the stairs. I’ve never seen him angrier. After he passed, I climbed back up to the tower room to see Mum. I thought mayhap I could make her feel better. I opened the door, but she wasna there. ’Twas when I noticed the window was open.”

  Genevieve felt as if a hand were squeezing her heart. Had he told no one of this? “Oh, Ewan.”

  His lower lip trembled. “I knew Mum hadna gone past me. So I walked slowly to the window and peeked down. Th-there she was just lying on the ground so verra still.”

  Genevieve couldn’t speak. Instead, she reached out and pulled him into her arms and he shook with heartbreaking sobs.

  “Ewan, have you ever told anyone else about this?”

  “Nay,” he said in a muffled voice. “I was afraid.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Da. Did I do something to make them argue so? Did I do something to make him so frightfully angry?”

  “No.” Her eyes filled with tears. “None of this is your fault.”

  “Then whose fault is it?” His eyes shimmered with wetness.

  Genevieve stroked his hair. “I don’t know, Ewan. I truly don’t know.”

  The morning turned into afternoon and neither Genevieve nor Ewan spoke of what the boy had seen in the castle tower the night his mother died. Instead, she brought him his midday meal and they had a picnic in bed. She had just begun to read a new book when Connor suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a tan colored riding suit and dark boots, clearly having been on a practice run for the foxhunt with his guests. To Genevieve’s astonishment, instead of his usual brief and formal greeting from the doorway, he sat on the corner of Ewan’s bed and patted the boy on the leg.

  “So, your secret is out, lad. Ye’ve been working wi’ the hounds.”

  Ewan nodded. “I’m sorry for what happened, Da. I just wanted to show ye that I’m no longer afraid o’ them. At least no’ most o’ the time. Right, Miss Fitzsimmons?”

  She smiled and Connor’s turned his gaze on her. Something stirred in his eyes, but he said nothing.

  “Ye really wished that much to go on the foxhunt, Ewan?”

  “I’m no’ a child any longer.”

  “Ye’re right. Ye worked hard to conquer your fear. That is indeed the action o’ a man.”

  The boy beamed with pride, and Genevieve felt tears prick her eyelids. Connor glanced at her over his shoulder, perhaps seeking her approval. She smiled and when he resumed speaking with Ewan, she slipped out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

  She was dabbing her eyes with the corner of her sleeve when she saw Malcom shuffling down the corridor, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “How’s my grandson?”

  “Better. Connor is in speaking with him now.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that. I never knew Ewan was so interested in foxhunts.”

  “He’s isn’t really. He’s more interested in gaining his father’s approval.” It slipped out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry. I seem to be quite adept lately at saying things I shouldn’t.”

  “It has been a difficult time. Janet’s death was hard on both o’ them.”

  “I know. But thankfully it seems that Connor might at last be trying to rectify the past.”

  “Because o’ ye.”

  “No, because I think he finally realizes how important he is to Ewan.”

  Malcom cleared his throat. “Dinna be so hard on Connor. There’s a lot ye dinna know. A lot that could change your mind about him.”

  “There isn’t anything that could matter more than loving his son.”

  Malcom ran a gnarled hand over his brow. “That’s the problem, lass. Ewan isna his son.”

  Chapter 9

  Genevieve’s mouth dropped open. “Wh-what did you say?”

  Malcom motioned with his hand. “Follow me to the sitting room. The corridor is no’ the place for such a discussion.”

  Stunned, she followed him and waited while he asked Mrs. MacDougal to bring them sweet tea and biscuits. Genevieve stirred the fire to a blaze by adding another square of peat.

  After the housekeeper had served them and left, Genevieve sat back in the chair and asked the question burning on her tongue. “What do you mean Ewan isn’t Connor’s son?”

  Malcom stared sadly into the fire. “Janet had a lover.”

  Genevieve felt as though she’d received a blow to the chest. “My God,” she murmured.

  “His name was John MacDonald. Quite the charming lad and in many ways, a lot like Connor. Janet wanted to wed John, but her family wouldn’t have it. She’d been intended for Connor since the day she was born.”

  “What did Connor have to say about that?”

  Malcom laughed, but it was not a happy sound. “He didna have any say, lass. He knew his responsibilities to his family and he knew them well. He married her because I told him to.”

  He stood heavily on his cane and shuffled over to a wooden lowboy where he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He brought it over to the chairs where they sat and asked whether she’d like a dollop in her tea. Genevieve nodded and after he added in the spirits, he sat down and picked up his teacup.

  “The marriage was a mistake from the start. Connor and Janet were no’ suited to each other. Janet wished to entertain and travel while Connor preferred solitude. ’Twas also a time when he began to shoulder more o’ the responsibilities for the business, including the arrangement we shared wi’ your grandda.”

  Genevieve took a sip of the tea, barely noticing as the whiskey burnt a trail down her throat. “It must have been a trying time for him. But how do you know Ewan isn’t his son?” It was an indelicate question and her cheeks heated as she asked it. But she had to know.

  “Connor began to travel more and more o
ften. Part o’ it was a genuine interest in the business, but more oft than no’, I suspect ’twas to escape from Janet, from their loveless union. On one trip, he was away for nearly four months and when he came back, she confessed that she was with child and John was the da.”

  Genevieve closed her eyes, imagining the pain the revelation must have cost him. “Does Ewan know?”

  “Nay, no one knows for certain except me and Connor and now ye. Connor might no’ have told me except I found him one night in the library drunker than I’d ever seen him. He never drank to excess, so it frightened me. ’Twas then he told me what happened. I’d been charged wi’ keeping matters at the castle safe until his return, so ’twas my fault I failed to discover that Janet had been trysting wi’ John.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” Her thoughts were awhirl. “Nor can Connor blame himself.”

  “I assure ye, we both did. In many ways, ’twas a mess o’ our own making.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. “What did Connor do?”

  “He went to call out John MacDonald, o’ course. But the scoundrel had departed once he’d heard from Janet o’ the impending birth. He knew Connor would come around. The last I heard he’d traveled south to catch a ship bound for America.”

  “And yet, Connor didn’t disown Ewan.”

  “Nay, he didna, although he thought long and hard about it. He finally told Janet he’d provide and care for the lad as if he were his own. But the relationship ’tween him and Janet was destroyed.”

  “I can understand why.” God in heaven, so many things were beginning to make sense now. The coolness between Connor and Ewan, the unnatural barriers in their relationship.

  “Ewan has never been an easy lad to handle. Yet he’s perceptive. I think he knew from the start that something ’twasn’t right ’tween him and his da.”

  “And he got Connor’s attention the only way he knew how—through disobedience.”

  “Aye. But every time Connor looks at the lad, he sees Janet’s betrayal.”

  “He must have looked at Janet the same way.”

  Malcom closed his eyes and Genevieve saw how very old he appeared. “And after enough times, it drove her to her death.”

  Genevieve suddenly felt ill to her stomach. She set her teacup and saucer on the table and stood. “Why have you told me this?”

  “Because I dinna want Connor to make the same mistake again.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Wedding Catherine.”

  Genevieve’s indignation rose on Connor’s behalf. “Shouldn’t he be allowed to make his own choices at last?”

  “Aye, he should. And that’s why, for once, I want him to follow his heart.”

  Genevieve frowned. “I don’t understand. Doesn’t he want to wed Catherine?”

  Malcom shook his head. “Nay, lass, he wants to wed ye. ’Twas what he wanted from the very first.”

  She returned to her room, deeply shaken by Malcom’s revelation about Janet and Ewan, and above all, Connor’s supposed feelings for her. She had no idea what to think of his claim that Connor had wished to wed her. More than likely it was simply the fanciful wishing of an old man. But the knowledge of everything together disturbed her terribly.

  Nonetheless, she somehow managed to sleep away the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon. She had supper with Ewan in his room, successfully avoiding Connor and the guests preparing for the next morning’s foxhunt.

  After tucking Ewan in, she slept fitfully, waking at dawn and hearing the castle already abuzz with preparations for the big event. She dressed in haste, hoping for a breath of fresh air before the festivities got started. Slipping outside, she used the servants’ stairs and then headed for the garden. She was admiring the dew-wet blossoms when she heard footsteps behind her.

  She turned, surprised to see Catherine. Clad in a blue velvet riding outfit with her dark hair pinned up and a cap positioned artfully atop her head, she was a vision to behold.

  “Good morn’ to ye, Miss Fitzwellon. ’Tis a lovely morning, isna it?”

  Genevieve swallowed her annoyance. “It’s Fitzsimmons. And yes, it’s a lovely morning.”

  Catherine smiled and perched on the stone bench. “Och, how careless o’ me to get the governess’s name wrong. I should take more care when speaking o’ Connor’s friends.”

  “That would be kind of you.”

  She chuckled, a deep, throaty sound. “Ye are no’ as meek as ye look. Do ye mind if I ask just how close friends ye are wi’ Connor?”

  “Pardon me?”

  She laughed outright. “I am a woman, dear, and I know Connor well. Ye fancy yourself in love wi’ him, dinna ye? What did he do? Steal a kiss? Whisper sweet promises to ye under the stars? Well, let me tell ye something about Connor. He’s a man who has a way wi’ the lassies. He’s handsome, brooding, charming. Every woman he meets falls hard for him. ’Tis naught but second nature to him. It means little.”

  “You are quite mistaken.”

  “Am I?” Catherine stretched on the bench like a sleek, slender cat. “Haven’t ye asked yourself why he really brought ye here? Was he bored or perhaps needed an amusement to lighten his tedious routine? Ye would be naught more than a passing fancy for him, not even suitable for a long-time mistress. Why look at ye. Ye are plain, ordinary. A woman, aye, but no’ a woman who would capture his fancy for verra long.”

  Genevieve clenched her fists together, her anger rising fast and furious. “How dare you suggest such a thing.”

  The sleek cat showed her claws. “I dare because Connor is mine. He intends to announce our betrothal tonight. I wanted to make that clear to ye. Ye are naught more than a governess, a servant in his employ…and soon to be in mine. Your fate rests as much wi’ me as it does him. So tread carefully.”

  Genevieve felt as if she’d been slapped. Connor was going to announce their betrothal tonight? Although she’d been prepared for an eventual joining of the two, she did not anticipate the hot flash of jealously that ripped through her. It was time to show Catherine that she was not without claws either.

  Raising her chin, Genevieve gave Catherine a cold smile of her own. “Well then, may the best woman win.” A satisfied warmth filled her as Catherine’s beautiful face paled.

  Without another word, Genevieve turned on her heel and walked away.

  The foxhunt took all morning and stretched past midday until finally the guests returned. Genevieve stood at Ewan’s window, watching as Connor rode in first, his dark hair tousled from the ride. Catherine rode in behind him, looking as beautiful and regal as ever. They made a handsome couple.

  At that moment, she saw Connor raise his head, his gaze capturing hers at the window. Startled that he’d seen her there staring, she stepped back.

  Ewan could hardly contain his excitement. “Did ye see Da?”

  “Yes. Everyone is back.”

  “Do ye think they caught the fox?”

  “I would presume so.” Genevieve approached the bed and plumped the pillows.

  “I hope Da comes up here soon to tell me about it.”

  “I’m certain he will.” She was glad to see the boy in such good spirits. “I need to attend to something now, Ewan, but I’ll return later.”

  She left the room, retreating to the safe haven of her own chamber. She’d been considering her situation all day and had finally come to a decision. After the guests departed, she would tell Connor of her desire to leave. She would not be welcome in a castle controlled by Lady Catherine nor had she any wish to live under the woman’s direction. She only prayed that Connor’s and Ewan’s new bond would hold and the two of them would enjoy their relationship.

  She sat at her desk, writing some letters of inquiry as to governess posts in London and hoping Connor would be willing to give her a letter of reference. She still had pen in hand when a knock sounded on her door. Thinking it was Mrs. MacDougal, she walked across the room and opened it.

  Connor stood there sti
ll dressed in his riding outfit, his massive shoulders straining against the coat. His dark hair had been tousled by the wind, his cheeks red from the ride. His presence seemed to fill the entire room and he studied her face for a moment, seeming to search her expression for something.

  Her sense of trepidation rose. “Is all well with Ewan? I was with him just a short time ago.”

  “Ewan is fine. I haven’t come to see ye about him. Do ye have a moment to speak privately wi’ me?”

  “Of course.”

  Without another word, he led her to the library. After she was seated, he walked around to his side of the desk and sat down, saying nothing. Instead, he tapped his fingers on his desk and stared into space as if gathering his thoughts. He was nervous, she thought in surprise. The rogue of Aberdour was visibly unsettled about something.

  The silence stretched on interminably until Genevieve could no longer bear it. “Did you catch the fox?”

  He seemed relieved she had spoken. “I’m sorry to report that we did no’. I presume the news pleases ye, knowing how ye disapprove o’ such gaming.”

  “I am pleased on behalf of the fox.”

  He managed a chuckle, but it sounded pained. “Diplomatically put.” He fell silent again.

  At a loss as how to help him further, Genevieve crossed her hands in her lap and waited. She had run out of meaningless conversation, so the rest would be up to him.

  Finally he spoke. “Ye’ve been right about me.”

  “I have?”

  “I’ve treated Ewan poorly. ’Twas wrong o’ me. Genevieve…he’s no’ my son.”

  She was struck by the raw pain in his eyes. “I know. But in all the ways it matters most, you are indeed his father.”

  “Ye knew?”

  “Your father told me yesterday, urging me not to judge you harshly. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He sighed. “I thought if ye knew ’twould make things worse between us.”

  “It might have helped me understand why you treated Ewan the way you did.”

  “Ewan doesna know.”

  “Maybe someday he should…when he’s old enough to understand. But then it won’t matter. You’re the only father he’ll have ever known.”