Kissing the Countess

by Susan King

  "Here, Papa." Heart slamming, she half sat and drew the plaid blanket to her chin. She glanced anxiously at Evan Mackenzie, who stood tall and calm beside her pallet.

  "Thank the Lord! She's here!" Reverend Thomas MacConn shouted over his shoulder, waved, then crossed the threshold. He moved stiffly, using the walking stick like a cane. Four men came in after him, their large forms further blocking the light as they swept in fresh, chilly air. Catriona shivered.

  "Girl, are you safe?" her father asked, striding forward. "The Lord be praised. We feared that something awful had happened again on these slopes—" He stopped, staring at Evan. "Sir," he growled. "And are you who I think you are?"

  "Aye, no doubt." Evan inclined his head. "Greetings, Reverend MacConn."

  "Papa, I'm fine," Catriona said hastily. "We were caught by the storm—oh, Finlay!" She greeted her older brother with relief as he came toward them. "And Mr. Grant," she greeted the third man, Kenneth Grant, the laird of an estate at the far end of the glen, who acted as the doctor in the glen. The fourth man she had never seen before. Good Lord, did her father have to bring the entire village in his search party? Soon the whole glen would know of her disgrace.

  Under four gazes that registered various degrees of surprise and suspicion, she felt keen embarrassment. She sat on the floor in her chemise, her hair flowing loose. The plaid was obviously the only makeshift bed in the room, and it had clearly been shared. And the man beside her was dressed in shirtsleeves, unbuttoned vest, and trousers. Even worse, his shirt hem was untucked, his black hair mussed, and he had no boots on.

  Surely the truth seemed as crystal clear as the cold morning air that poured into the shabby ruined interior. Kenneth Grant kicked the door shut behind him as if to punctuate a tone of disapproval, even anger.

  As her father, brother, and the two others stared at Catriona and Evan, a few seconds felt like a slow agony.

  Her father grew red in the face as he turned to Evan Mackenzie. "You, sir!" he said in English. "How is it you are here with my daughter, in a—shameful state!" It was not a question. Her father was not a man to ask, but to inform.

  Evan regarded him calmly. "Reverend MacConn, I assure you there is an explanation."

  "We were stranded in the storm, in the freezing cold," Catriona said. "Mr. Mackenzie was injured in a fall—"

  "Injured?" Kenneth Grant asked. "I act as the physician in the glen, sir. Miss MacConn—are you unwell or hurt?"

  "I'm fine," she said. "But Mr. Mackenzie—"

  "It's nothing," Evan said.

  "Mr. Mackenzie?" her father asked. "Is that what he told you his name was?"

  She looked from him to Evan. "I do not understand."

  "That is not just Mr. Mackenzie," her father said, glowering. Catriona looked at Evan in surprise. He glanced away.

  "Father, they need the food and the plaidies we've brought with us." Finlay hefted a knapsack over his shoulder. "They have had a bad time of it, no doubt. First we should get them home and let Mr. Grant treat them. Later we can learn the details of their wee adventure."

  Evan shoved a hand through his rumpled hair and glanced at Finlay. "Thank you, sir."

  "I want the details now," her father growled.

  "The important thing is that they're safe," Finlay said.

  Grant nodded. "True. And if the gentleman is hurt—"

  "They look hearty to me," Reverend MacConn said. He folded his arms and glared at Evan.

  "Good grief, Kildonan, what happened to you?" The fourth man stepped forward. "Deuced good to see you, sir. Bad night, eh?"

  "Bad enough, Fitz," Evan said quietly. "Good to see you. Miss MacConn, this is Mr. Arthur Fitzgibbon."

  "I feared the worst when that storm blew in yesterday and you did not return," Fitzgibbon went on. "So I rode back through the glen and met these gentlemen, who were out searching for Miss MacConn. We had to wait until the weather cleared to come up here, though. Bad night all around, with that ice, and no picnic coming up here this morning, either. What luck to find you both together, Kildonan."

  Catriona felt her heart falter as realization suddenly dawned on her. She stared up at Evan. "Kildonan?" she whispered.

  "Aye," he said, his gaze on hers steady and grim. "I am Lord Kildonan."

  Chapter 7

  Catriona said nothing as the group carefully walked the long drover's track, which was still treacherous with ice. She avoided glancing at Evan Mackenzie—Lord Kildonan, she reminded herself bitterly—and concentrated on watching her father's progress. His old back injury made long, steep walks difficult for him now, but Thomas MacConn refused to accept her hand on his arm on the rougher parts of the terrain. His rejection of her help—and his silent but clear disapproval of her situation—hurt more than she wanted to admit.

  Still silent upon reaching her home, she was swept away by her aunt, Judith Rennie, and their family friend Mrs. MacAuley, who ran the glen's only inn. Swept along on a tide of anxious cries, surrounded by the swishing black skirts of the two widows, Catriona let the women guide her upstairs to her bedroom, where a hot bath, fresh clothing, and a hot meal awaited her.

  She felt Evan watching her as she walked away, but she did not glance back, although she heard him ask Arthur Fitzgibbon to ride back to Kildonan Castle to fetch Evan's sister, who Evan said should have arrived at the castle that day to meet him. So there was even more Catriona did not know—he had been at his castie for a few days, apparently, and she had not heard about it.

  Leaving Evan standing in the hallway, Catriona felt drained of physical and emotional energy suddenly, as if his quiet strength had shored her up for the past twenty-four hours. Now it had been withdrawn. For her, Evan Mackenzie no longer existed as she had known him. And now that she was back in the tense and critical atmosphere of her father's manse, she felt herself pull inward protectively through silence and dull compliance.

  All she wanted was to rest and to be left alone. She needed time to think about what she had done and what must come next. She felt hurt and weakened. Her father and her aunt were furious and shocked by the fact that she had spent a night alone with a man, but the greatest blow was Evan's deception, which felt like a betrayal. He was not the kind, loving stranger she had thought; nor was he a man she could dream of endlessly, later, when she felt lonely.

  Instead, he was the son of the hated Earl of Kildonan and reputed to be no better himself, and she had allowed him—in fact had encouraged him wantonly—to use her.

  They had shared risk, and warmth, and intimate passion, but he had not shared the truth with her. She did not know if she could forget, let alone forgive, that.

  Nor could she bring herself to look back at Kildonan himself, though he stood in her hallway, watching her, his silence as grim as her own.

  * * *

  "Considering the exposure to severe cold and a fall into icy water, I'd like to be sure there's no lung ailment, Miss MacConn. Excuse me while I check the health of your heart and lungs." Mr. Grant leaned forward and thumped gently on her upper chest. Seating himself beside her on the horsehair sofa in the drawing room, he tapped his fingertips up and down her back in a pattern, angling his head close to listen.

  Sitting straight backed and breathing slowly, Catriona was glad that Mrs. MacAuley had tied her stays loosely after she had bathed and changed into a fresh gown of gray-and-blue-striped silk. She waited in silence while Kenneth Grant completed his examination.

  Her aunt waited in silence, too, standing by the closed doors of the drawing room while she chaperoned the doctor's examination. Hands folded primly, handsome face pulled in a harsh frown, Catriona's aunt Judith made her disapproval of the entire situation clear. The widow of a Perthshire laird, Judith Rennie was a strong-minded woman with an iron will. She had quickly surmised that Catriona's experience with the Earl of Kildonan was not a dangerous adventure but a shocking escapade.

  Although the misinterpretation offended her, Catriona was not surprised by her aunt's conclusion. Nor did
she have the energy to correct Aunt Judith. Guilt, if nothing else, silenced her. She had been very foolish, indeed, just as her aunt thought. Sighing, she glanced at Kenneth Grant as he leaned back.

  "All seems well. One moment." He picked up his stethoscope and placed it against her chest, listening through the layers of her clothing. "Aye, clear." He removed the stethoscope and laid it aside. "You're in excellent health, as always. Just tired, I think."

  "Aye, tired," she agreed in English, the language normally used in her father's household but for the kitchen and the nursery when she had been a child. Her father conducted his church services in Gaelic for the benefit of his Highland parish, but at home he demanded English in dining room and drawing room.

  Kenneth Grant glanced up. "Your niece had taken no harm from her ordeal, Mrs. Rennie, but she will need rest for a few days. I'd advise against long walks over the hills until you have your strength back, Miss MacConn. No going about with Morag MacLeod," he cautioned.

  "Catriona and Morag MacLeod have work to do—they collect the knitting assignments, as you well know," Judith Rennie said. "A worthy charitable act that must be done regularly."

  "A few days will make no difference," Grant answered.

  "She is in good health, and I understand Lord Kildonan is in good health, too. Not so much the emergency, was it, Catriona?" Judith looked smug.

  "The situation seems to have been serious, Mrs. Rennie," Grant said solemnly. "Lord Kildonan has a knot on his head and is bruised from his fall down the mountainside. He is a lucky man and fortunate to have such a strong physique. He needs only some rest to be hale and hearty again. And he insists that Miss MacConn saved his life. You must be proud of your niece for her Good Samaritan deed, Mrs. Rennie."

  "She is a minister's daughter, and exemplary behavior at all times is expected of her, though with Catriona exemplary is not a word that always applies," Judith replied with a sniff.

  "We endured some terrible conditions, yet we are both well and unharmed," Catriona pointed out. "I should think that would be cause for giving thanks, Aunt, especially in this household."

  "Of course we are thankful and glad no other tragedy occurred—I do not think your father could have borne it if it had," her aunt replied. "We are also quite distressed by the matter."

  Catriona sighed. Grant glanced at her, his expression grim and humorless. She had never felt quite comfortable with Grant, who was overly serious and scowled much for a man of his age—scarcely a decade older than she was herself.

  "If you're finished, Mr. Grant, the reverend would like to see Catriona in his study. My dear, come along." She opened the door and tipped her head. "The earl is already meeting with your father. They are waiting for us."

  Catriona's heart pounded at the thought of seeing Evan, speaking to him. "Go ahead. I'll... be along in a moment."

  Sniffing again, Judith Rennie left the drawing room, leaving the door partly open.

  Grant took her hand. "Let me check your pulse once more, my dear Miss MacConn. You have suffered an extraordinary ordeal."

  And her aunt was the better part of it just now, she wanted to say, but sat beside him in silence. Then, as he nodded and set her hand down, she smiled.

  "Thank you, Mr. Grant, for coming out to Glenachan, and for your help in searching for me and for... Lord Kildonan."

  "I was glad to be of some help," he said, his brown eyes narrowing. He was a tall man with a square face and a thick shock of dark brown hair. As laird of Kilmallie, twelve miles away at the easternmost end of Glen Shee, he did not come often to Glenachan. Kenneth now ran his inherited estate, which he had expanded with sheep runs that had begun to make his fortune. Yet he still found time to act as the glen's only doctor, the nearest full physician being thirty miles away in Kyle of Lochalsh. "I'm always delighted to help you in particular, my dear Miss Catriona."

  He sometimes referred to her by her first name, for they had known each other for years—since she had been a girl, in fact, though he had been only an occasional visitor to the manse then. He smiled, quick and flat, as if it pained him to do so. Grant lacked a sense of humor, she knew, and his somber, earnest nature was sometimes trying.

  "Not everyone is delighted with me just now," she said.

  He frowned. "Reverend MacConn is understandably upset, of course. He was very much afraid that you had met with an accident. I dosed him for nervous ailment last night, he was that worried. And he did ask me to speak with you, miss, to determine if you were... well, harmed in any less obvious way."

  "Lord Kildonan behaved like a gentleman, if that is what you imply," she said. That was true enough. She had not behaved like a lady, but she was not going to give details to anyone.

  Grant stared hard at her. "Your father fears that you were... compromised. The blanket was obviously shared."

  "We had to share it for warmth," she answered. "It was terribly cold. My father and my aunt may not understand that we were in danger of our lives in the shelter of that hut, but you, as a doctor, must assure them that we had reason to share the blanket. That does not mean I was compromised."

  "So you did share it. Well, I'm sure this will all blow over, like last night's storm."

  She nodded silently. If the details became known, the storm would become a tempest. "I must go to my father," she said. "Is that all, Mr. Grant?" She stood, and he did as well.

  "One more moment of your time, Miss MacConn," he said. He smiled that curious, thin smile that held no humor or lightness, and went to the door, closing it securely.

  "Shutting the door is not necessary—nor proper," she said, stretching out her hand to open it again. "I am in enough of a kettle with my aunt just now." She meant it for a jest, but he did not laugh. The doctor, always serious, never seemed to quite understand jokes, she reminded herself.

  "Nor was what you did proper, my dear," he said. "If only I had known."

  "Known what?" She moved past him, but he took her shoulder. She turned, puzzled at first, then alarmed, for he seemed angry in that hard, grim way he had. "What is it? Did my father or aunt ask you to... speak to me about anything further?"

  "I wish I had known that proper Miss Catriona, the Plain Girl of Glenachan, was willing to spend the night in a man's arms," he said in a low voice. "I would have pressed my own interests earlier." He took her by both shoulders. "Now I wonder if it is too late."

  She tried to shrug him away. "What do you mean, too late?"

  "I was there, my dear. I saw you sitting in the pallet you shared with him. You looked so beautiful, with your hair loose, your cheeks rosy, your lips—seeing that, it cut me to the heart," he said, and then he brushed his hand over her cheek. "I want what you gave the earl so freely. I deserve that more than he does." He took her by the shoulders again.

  "Take your hands off me," she said, fierce and low. Her heart beat hard, her head whirled. Had she missed some sign in him of affection for her? Some sign of a hidden, almost cruel temperament? He had always been serious and grim, though impeccably polite.

  "I've known you for years, and I would have pressed my suit with your father, but you were the Plain Girl—the one who agreed never to marry. And now this! Much better if you had run off and wed someone. That would have been less of a shock than this—giving yourself to the Earl of Kildonan, of all men!"

  "He was a gentleman when we were alone, as I told you," she said. That was true for the most part. "And I am no man's mistress, if that is what you think. Let me go."

  "Everyone in the glen knows that the old earl kept a Highland mistress—more than one. It appears that his son means to do the same."

  "Not with me," she said, pushing against him. "I am done with him—and what happened last night should not interest you or anyone else. Leave me be."

  But he caught her in his arms, pulling her to him. "Listen to me. Keep still and listen," he hissed, while Catriona struggled. "I know about your brother."

  She grew still. "My—brother?" she whispered.

 
"Finlay MacConn has been bringing back some of the people who were evicted from this glen years ago. He is setting them up again in their former homes."

  "How... ridiculous," she said, her voice muffled. How did Kenneth Grant know? Finlay was always very careful, and so far had installed families only in remote areas of the glen.

  "I've seen them," Grant said. "I was hunting on my land where it borders Kildonan, and my dogs ran off in pursuit of a stag. I chased them a far distance, and I saw smoke curling up from what should have been an abandoned croft. Then I saw that ancient Mr. MacGillechallum, who was thrown out of his home with his old wife. Both of them sitting outside in the sunshine by their little house—and the house had a new roof and a new door. What do you think of that?"

  "I do not know what you're talking about," she said.

  "Oh, you do," he said, holding her hard at the waist. "I think you have been helping him. You and Finlay are well-known for walking the hills for hours, full days, at a time. That old wifey was singing a tune that day, one I've heard you sing, dear girl. A strange old Gaelic tune, and where would you have learned it but from that old woman?" He tilted his head and hummed a little of the melody.

  The beautiful old song seemed eerie and thin, rendered in his flat voice. She stared at him. "Let me go," she said coldly, "and leave this house. When my father and brother learn that you have put your hands on me in so vile a manner—and you a doctor—there will be plenty said, and done, about it."

  He pulled her close enough to whisper in her ear. "What do you think the new earl will say about all this? His factor taking estate decisions into his own hands—Kildonan will have him arrested for it. The sheriff at Inverness and the magistrate of the Torridon district always supported the old earl. And now Finlay MacConn... and his beautiful sister... have gone against the law. Those people have no right to live on this land. They are not tenants approved by the landowner. They are not capable of doing hard work or paying the rent."

  She stood motionless in his grip, feeling an ugly swirl of fear. "What do you want of me? Why are you bringing this up now?"