A Highland Conquest

by Sandra Heath

  Hester listened to the music for a moment. “Who is playing?” she asked.

  “That will be Mary. Come, I’ll introduce you. I fear that she and Fitz are the only others in the castle right now. Fitz expects his wife to arrive at any moment, and everyone else has gone for a picnic by the head of the loch.”

  A door opened at the far end of the hall and a steward entered. He rather reminded Lauren of the landlord at the Crown & Thistle, except that he wore a plaid kilt and black waist-length coat, with a lavish spill of lace at his throat.

  Rory turned toward him. “Ah, Tam, would you see that some suitable refreshments are brought to the music room, and that these guests’ rooms are ready and waiting as they should be?”

  “My lord.” Tam bowed and withdrew again.

  With Isabel on his arm, Rory led his new guests toward the staircase, and the sound of the piano grew steadily louder as they ascended. They walked along a dark-paneled passage toward an arched door that stood slightly ajar. The room beyond was bright with sunlight, and its windows faced over the loch toward Ben Vane. True to most music rooms, it was sparsely furnished, with a few chairs and several cupboards for music sheets. There was a gilded harp in a corner, a violin propped up on the mantel shelf, and a collection of bagpipes of varying antiquity displayed upon the walls.

  The piano stood in a shaft of sunlight at the end of the room. It was an elegant instrument, much decorated with mother-of-pearl, ebony, and ivory, and it had a particularly sweet tone. The lady playing it was charmingly dressed in a green seersucker gown, and there was a silk scarf of the blue-and-green Ardmore tartan pinned over her shoulder with a silver brooch. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion, dark eyes, and soft brown hair which was worn up on her head beneath a lacy day cap, with untied tippets which trailed prettily on either side of her face. She wasn’t alone in the room, for a gentleman was leaning on the piano, watching her as she played.

  Anthony, Lord Fitzsimmons—Fitz to his friends—was tall and fair, with pleasant features and hazel eyes, and he wore a sky-blue coat of such an excellent cut that it had to have originated in London’s Bond Street. There was a discreet pearl pin on his crisply starched cravat, and he was smiling at Mary in a warm but rather fraternal way. She, on the other hand, was returning the smile in a way which Lauren thought was anything but sisterly. There was a telltale glow about Lady Mary Ardmore, but it was a lost cause, for Fitz was married to the mysterious Emma.

  Mary’s playing broke off as her brother and his guests entered the room, and quickly she rose to come toward them. She had an amiable and open smile, and was delighted to see Hester and Alex again. She also greeted Lauren warmly when they were introduced, and Lauren instinctively found herself liking Rory’s sister as much as she’d disliked his mistress a few minutes earlier. Lauren also took to Fitz, who had the sort of easy charm and good-natured humor which made him comfortable to be with. It was easy to see why Mary was secretly in love with him.

  Mary was disarmingly pleased they’d arrived at last. “Oh, I’m truly delighted you’ve come, for now you’ll be here tomorrow night.”

  ‘Tomorrow night?” Alex repeated blankly, not thinking.

  “It’s my birthday ball,” Mary explained smilingly.

  “But of course! How dense of me.” He grinned at her. “After all, that is the reason we’re here, is it not?”

  They all adjourned to the nearby solar, which was the name given to the chamber which served as the drawing room. Like the hall on the floor below, it was half paneled, half whitewashed, and this time the whitewashed portion of the walls was adorned with tapestries and highly polished gold and silver plates. The windows faced over the gardens and the loch, and were larger than those in the rest of the castle—hence the name solar.

  They sat in amiable conversation for a while, but when Tam the steward ushered two maids in with tea trays, Lauren was conscious of Isabel’s dark gaze upon her. The tripping-up in the courtyard had quite obviously been a mere beginning, for more was promised by those spiteful blue eyes.

  But not long after that, something happened to temporarily banish all thought of Isabel, or even of Rory himself, from Lauren’s mind. Footsteps that jingled with spurs echoed briskly along the passage, and then the door was flung open and a young gentleman burst unceremoniously into the room. Lauren’s breath caught, for she’d seen him before. He was the lover of the mysterious lady at the Crown & Thistle!

  He had obviously been out riding, for he wore a pine-green riding coat and light gray cord breeches. There was color on his cheeks and his dark hair was windswept, as if he’d been urging his horse at speed for some time. He hesitated for a moment as he saw Hester and Alex in the room, and Lauren knew that his ladylove at the inn had told him all about them being there as well.

  Rory was irritated. “Is the castle on fire, Jamie?” he enquired a little coolly.

  Jamie? It was Rory’s younger brother? Lauren lowered her eyes quickly, her thoughts racing as she considered the implications.

  Jamie shifted a little uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Rory, I didn’t mean to…”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. Well? What’s wrong now? I take it there’s a reason for your lack of manners?”

  Jamie’s glance slid again to Hester and Alex, but as he saw no particular response on their faces, he relaxed visibly.

  “I’m awaiting a reply,” Rory prompted frostily.

  Jamie looked swiftly at him. “I haven’t any real excuse for my conduct, except that I’ve had words with Lord Findon, who appears to think he knows more about Glenvane than I do! And then when I got back here, I found my horse had gone lame. That’s all.”

  Lauren studied at him. He was fibbing. Whatever his reason for behaving as he had, it wasn’t on account of Lord Findon or a lame horse.

  Mary hastened to smooth the moment over. “Come and sit down, Jamie, and I’ll pour you some tea,” she said.

  He gave the teapot a savage look. Tea was evidently the last thing he really wished to drink at the moment, but he obliged her and sat down to accept a dainty porcelain cup and saucer. Then he looked at Alex again.

  “We thought you’d be here before this,” he said, his tone now level and all that was courteous.

  “Well, we would have been,” Alex replied, and then went on to explain again about the Crown & Thistle.

  Jamie remained commendably self-possessed. “That fork in Dumbarton has had much to answer for over the years. Er—were there many at the inn?”

  Lauren watched him. She alone knew why he was asking such a question.

  Alex pursed his lips. “There were quite a few guests, I suppose, but it wasn’t exactly crowded.”

  Jamie glanced at him. “So it wasn’t like a Mayfair reception, a crush to end all crushes, with every face familiar?” he ventured.

  “Not a familiar face in sight,” Alex replied.

  Jamie smiled, for those few words were all the reassurance he required. “A few days ago you’d have met Sir Sydney Dodd.”

  “So I understand. Unfortunately, Hester would appear to have sampled the same red grouse dinner, but we trust she won’t be laid up in bed as he apparently is.”

  Rory nodded. “He’s far from well, and I wish he would let me send for the doctor from Dumbarton, but he insists that he’s recovering without the attentions of any cursed quack.”

  Jamie turned suddenly to Fitz. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention earlier that Emma won’t be here now until sometime this afternoon. A messenger arrived as I was leaving on my ride, and it quite slipped my mind.”

  Fitz sighed. “What on earth is keeping her? She should have been here this morning.”

  “I gather she has had trouble with her carriage. Repairs, or something.” Jamie fidgeted with his cup and saucer.

  Mary was concerned. “Oh, Alex, what a shame that you didn’t encounter her on the way, for you could have brought her with you.”

  “Indeed so,” Alex replied.

  Jamie said nothin
g, but a nerve flickered at his temple as he kept his gaze lowered to the floor. In that moment Lauren knew that Emma, Lady Fitzsimmons, was the woman at the inn. Jamie Ardmore was embroiled in a liaison with the wife of one of his brother’s oldest friends!

  It was a shocking realization, and Lauren was hard put to remain outwardly composed and unruffled. She was beginning to feel like a secret agent, for ever since she’d come over the border into Scotland she’d been the unwilling witness of others’ intrigues. First of all there had been the nighttime activities at the inn, then Isabel’s as yet unexplained animosity. After that had come the realization that Mary was in love with Fitz, and now the fact that Jamie was conducting an affair with Fitz’s wife. What else might there be? Nothing, she hoped, for it was very uncomfortable being party to so much that was meant to remain hidden.

  Shortly after that, Rory sent for maids to conduct Alex, Hester, and Lauren to their rooms, for the other guests were soon due to return from the picnic and a boating party on the loch had been arranged for the afternoon.

  Isabel suddenly got to her feet and volunteered to escort Lauren in person.

  Lauren was both startled and dismayed. “It’s very kind of you, Lady Maxby, but—”

  “I don’t mind at all, for I have to go to my own room for something, and it’s on the way,” Isabel insisted.

  Lauren had no option but to accept the offer with grace, but in truth she would have preferred to go with the maid. She felt that Isabel had an ulterior motive, and it wasn’t long before the suspicion proved correct. Halfway along a paneled gallery that was hung with portraits of Rory’s ancestors, Isabel paused suddenly.

  “Miss Maitland, will you satisfy my base curiosity about your locket?”

  “My locket?” Lauren was taken aback.

  “Yes. I couldn’t help catching a glimpse of it in the courtyard, and it really seemed so very like another one I know of that I must see if it is the same.”

  “I cannot imagine that it would be the same, Lady Maxby, for mine was made especially by a jeweler in Boston, but if you wish to see it…” Lauren allowed her to examine the locket.

  Isabel turned it over in her hand. “Yes, it really is similar to the other one. May I see inside?”

  “If you wish.”

  As she opened it and saw the portrait of Jonathan and lock of his hair, Isabel immediately raised her eyes to Lauren’s. “Who is he?”

  “He was my fiancé.”

  “Was?”

  “He died at sea,” Lauren replied briefly, not wanting to say anything more.

  “Oh.”

  Lauren took the locket and replaced it inside her spencer. Enough of this beating about the bush—it was time to get to the point. “What do you really wish to know, Lady Maxby?” she asked bluntly.

  The bluebell gaze was wide and innocent. “I don’t understand, Miss Maitland.”

  “No?”

  “No. Have I offended you in some way?”

  “Yes, Lady Maxby, you have, for I do not care to be deliberately tripped up.”

  “Deliberately? Oh, my dear Miss Maitland, that was an accident. Perhaps I should have apologized at the time—it was most remiss of me not to—

  “Remiss? Yes, it was.” Lauren held her gaze. If Isabel intended to pretend it had been an accident, there was little more to be said, but an accident it had most definitely not been.

  “I’m so sorry if I’ve upset you,” Isabel murmured, beginning to walk on again.

  Nothing more was said as they continued along the gallery, and shortly after that they reached the door of Lauren’s room. Isabel was all cool politeness as she took her leave, but Lauren felt there was something almost menacing about the busy whispering of her daffodil muslin skirts as she hurried away.

  Lauren entered the room. It was a handsome chamber in one of the turrets and enjoyed a grand view over the gardens and loch. The furnishings were very sumptuous, from the spacious four-poster bed to the elegant French armchairs by the fireplace. The bed was large enough to require a wooden step to climb into it, and there was an inviting windowseat upholstered in the same blue damask as the canopy and hangings. Behind a lacquer screen there was a dressing table, wardrobe, and wash-stand and elegant cheval glass. There were two gilt-framed paintings on the wall—a portrait of a lady in sixteenth-century dress and a landscape which included Loch Vane and the castle itself. Someone had put a bowl of honeysuckle in the hearth of the small fireplace and the air was scented and heady. Reflections from the loch far below shimmered on the ceiling in a soothing manner which made Lauren feel welcome the moment she entered.

  Peggy had already attended to most of the unpacking, and was very carefully hanging her mistress’s clothes in the capacious wardrobe. She hurried around the lacquer screen as Lauren came in.

  “It’s a lovely room, isn’t it, Miss Lauren?” she said, bobbing a curtsey.

  “Very lovely indeed, Peggy.” Lauren took a deep breath of the honeysuckle and then teased off her little white gloves to hand to the maid. “I trust you’ve been shown your own accommodation?”

  “I have, madam. I’m sharing with Mrs. Kingston’s maid.”

  Lauren smiled. “Well, that will suit you both, will it not?”

  “Oh, yes, madam.”

  Lauren went to the window to look out, and suddenly Rory addressed her from the doorway.

  “I trust the room is to your liking, Miss Maitland?”

  She turned swiftly. “Why, yes, Lord Glenvane, it’s very fine indeed.”

  “It happens to be one of the most agreeable in the castle—at least, that’s my opinion—so I wouldn’t want you to think I’d banished you to a garret,” he said, entering and coming to stand beside her at the window.

  “A very luxurious garret,” she replied, all too conscious of his closeness. Oh, plague take this man for unsettling her whenever she was with him. Why couldn’t she remain cool, calm, collected, and above all, aloof! She must form a defense. Yes, that was definitely what she must do. If she simply reminded herself of how tender his manner had been toward Isabel by the lochside earlier, then surely common sense would soon return. But as he smiled into her eyes, she knew that it would be easier said than done.

  He looked out of the window again. “Are you enjoying your stay in Britain, Miss Maitland?”

  “Much more than I thought I would,” she admitted.

  “I wish I could say the same of my visit to America,” he murmured, and then he looked at her. “I make no apology for bringing the subject up again, Miss Maitland, for there is something I wish to explain to you. You see, my attitude has nothing to do with your homeland in general, or indeed with your countrymen, just with my painful experience at the hands of one American lady in particular. I am referring to my late wife.”

  Lauren stared at him. “Your wife was American?” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.” It was all she could think of to say.

  He smiled. “Yes. Oh.”

  “An inadequate response, I admit,” she said, returning the smile.

  “Were our positions to be reversed, I doubt if I could think of anything suitable,” he replied. “My marriage was a disaster from the outset, and with hindsight I know I was aware of the problems before I uttered a single vow.” He gazed out at the sparkling loch as memories washed painfully over him, then he drew himself together. “I really shouldn’t be burdening you with any of this, but I want you to know, to understand…”

  “If you wish to tell me, Lord Glenvane, then I am willing to listen.” Oh, how willing, for she wished to know all there was to know about the master of Glenvane Castle. She could tell herself a thousand times over that it was foolish to be drawn to him, and she could remind herself that Isabel was probably his mistress, but nothing seemed to make any difference. She was a moth, helplessly attracted to his bright flame. She almost yearned to be burned, indeed she found herself contemplating that searing moment. What would it feel like to be taken in this dashing Scot
tish lord’s arms? What would it feel like to be kissed and cherished, to be made endless love to by him…? Hot color flushed to her cheeks, and she moved quickly away from the window.

  He misinterpreted her reaction. “Forgive me, for no doubt you wish to rest awhile after the journey. I trust we will meet again soon when everyone gathers for the boating party. Until then, Miss Maitland.” He inclined his head.

  “Until then, Lord Glenvane.” Lauren gazed after him. His wife had been American? His marriage had been a disaster? She wanted to know more, to understand more… If only she hadn’t turned from the window, then maybe he would have explained what had happened.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, when Lauren had changed out of her traveling clothes and was seated before the dressing table in her pink muslin wrap for Peggy to brush her hair, there was a knock at the door. It was Hester.

  “Are you all right, Lauren? It’s just that we’ve been put in rooms some way from here, and I feel a little as if we’ve deserted you.”

  “As you can see, I’m being very well cared for,” Lauren replied, spreading her hands to indicate the room.

  Hester glanced around. “You are indeed. I’m almost inclined to be miffed.” She went to the window. “What a wonderful view! We have only the courtyard to look at.”

  “Our host has been here to personally explain that this is one of the best rooms.”

  “Rory came here?”

  “Yes, a few minutes ago.”

  Hester raised an eyebrow. “As I said in London. La, Coz, I do believe you’ve made a conquest.”

  “I doubt that very much, for Lady Maxby is his love.”

  “Then he is a very poor judge of women.”

  Lauren smiled a little wryly. “I think he would probably agree with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, according to him he made a very unwise decision when he married his American wife.”