Kissing the Countess

by Susan King

  "On Sunday?" She stared at him.

  "It is the only day we could manage it—I brought them back here with me and left them temporarily at Mrs. MacAuley's inn. She can only keep them a day or two, as she expects travelers to arrive soon. After the MacLeods are settled, that will be the last of the new tenants for while."

  She nodded. "It will have to be. Where will they live?"

  "In the old shieling on Beinn Sitheach."

  "What! The place where Evan and I—but it is a ruin," she whispered. "We nearly froze to death on a bitterly cold night. A family with children could not survive the winter there."

  "A few of the other crofters have gone up there in the last few days to repair the roof and patch the walls and bring in furniture and stock it with food and dry peats," he said. "Now it is good enough to house a family. And it is the only place that was available—They will build another croft higher in the hills next spring, I think. For now, this will do."

  She nodded. "Evan and some of the other guests plan to go to services at Papa's church tomorrow. Be careful, Finlay."

  He nodded. "I will." He bent to kiss her cheek quickly.

  "Finlay," Evan said.

  Catriona turned, jumping a little in surprise, not realizing that Evan had come up so quietly behind them.

  "Sir," Finlay answered calmly.

  "Our friends are considering a climb up the slopes of Beinn Shee a few days from now," he said. "You were recommended as a guide. Would you be willing to take a group of us up the mountain in a few days?"

  "Of course, sir," Finlay said. "Depending on the weather and what route is taken, it can be an easy climb or a very difficult one. Are they experienced hillwalkers and climbers, sir?"

  "Some are," Evan said. "I confess that I did not make it to the top of that mountain myself, along the toughest route. But if I had, perhaps I would never have met your sister." He smiled.

  "I'm sure you would have met her one way or another," Finlay answered. "But you would not have had your adventure together, and so you would not now be married." He grinned.

  "True, and so I must be grateful to the mountain for defeating me that day," Evan said, and Catriona saw a quick dazzle in his hazel-green eyes as he glanced at her. "By the way, we've asked your sister to join us on our climb."

  "Up there? I doubt she'll go to the top of that particular mountain." He looked at his sister.

  "I will go," Catriona said, lifting her chin when Finlay looked surprised. She knew he thought of their brother Donald, who had died on Beinn Shee—but Finlay was unaware of Flora's request that Catriona bring back the fairy crystal from that daunting height.

  "If you would come Monday morning for breakfast, that would be excellent," Evan said. "We'll discuss plans and perhaps go the next day or the day following."

  "Tell your friends to get good rest tomorrow night and be ready for a climb on Monday," Finlay said. "If the weather is good, we should go up that morning. The weather is too unpredictable here. Why make plans for another day, if the one you have is good enough?"

  "Aye," Evan said, glancing at Catriona. "Good advice for all of us to remember."

  "I'll be here early," Finlay said, "though your census and sheep count will not be done by then." He smiled a little, though Catriona saw that it was forced.

  "Take the time you need for that. Good day, then. Perhaps we'll see you at kirk services tomorrow." Evan turned and walked back down the hall toward his study.

  Finlay turned. "So you're going up Beinn Shee, as well?"

  She nodded. "I must.... I'll explain later."

  "Well, if you go, I would rather it was with me than anyone else. It can be a beast of a mountain to climb. It would be better if these holiday climbers would go up one of the other peaks." He watched her for a moment. "Are you happy, Catriona?" he asked suddenly, softly.

  She hesitated, then nodded. "I am. Happier than I ever thought I could be. This has all happened so fast—but I am hoping it was all for the best."

  Frowning, he nodded. "May it last, then. If Kildonan does not make you happy all of your days, I will see to it myself that he pays for it. Will you be at services tomorrow?"

  "I—I should, but Papa and Aunt Judith were so angry about—what happened with me and Kildonan. Neither of them have even sent word to me since I left."

  "Father has fretted the whole while you've been gone, yet he has not felt at ease coming here himself to see how you have been getting along. He would like it if you came to services and brought your husband, though he would not admit it. Remember to come in time for the reading of The Book. You know how Aunt Judith would disapprove if you came late on a Sunday."

  She nodded. "I'll—we—will be there."

  Chapter 23

  Steady rain pattered the window glass in the library, providing a layer of soothing sound while Catriona transcribed some songs. Seated in a leather wing chair, she gazed now and then through a set of tall windows. Beyond the fine sheets of rain and sweeping lawns and forestland, she saw the mountains swathed in mist and a vast sky filled with clouds.

  The library, located in the same wing as her room and not far from the passage to the dining room, was not large, though it was cozy. The walls were lined with bookshelves and divided by tall windows at one end and pocket doors at the other. Walls and shelves were painted a quiet green, the chairs were covered in worn sherry-colored leather, the floors were scattered with beautiful old rugs, and the windows that framed the landscape were draped in dark green velvet. Of all the rooms at Kildonan, including her own serene but formal bedroom, Catriona liked the comfortable, shabby atmosphere of the library best.

  Glancing out the window, Catriona noticed Kildonan's gig speeding away from the castle. She knew it carried Sir Aedan MacBride, along with Lady Jean and Sir Harry, to Kyle of Lochalsh and the small harbor there. Lady Jean and her husband had decided to accompany Sir Aedan, who had business to attend on Skye, and they 'intended to spend time in a resort hotel in Broadford before returning to Edinburgh.

  When she had wished them all farewell that morning, Jean had embraced her and thanked her—to Catriona's amazement—for coming into their family. Still stunned, Catriona had turned to Aedan, who had kissed her hand and repeated his invitation for her and Evan to come to Dundrennan House for Christmas. Wanting very much to accept, she had only smiled in silence, while Evan promised that they would certainly consider it.

  Out in the corridor, she heard footsteps and voices raised in chatter. Jemima's husky laughter floated down the hallway. Catriona knew they would not come to the library for her, for she had pleaded fatigue and said she had a good deal of work to do in order to excuse herself from the day's outing. Due to the cold rain and mists, Jemima and the others planned to go out in two covered carriages, which would take them along the scenic shores of Loch Torridon.

  Mr. Grant had offered to act as their guide, and that was the chief reason Catriona had decided to avoid the outing.

  Shortly after Finlay had left, Mr. Grant had arrived to see Lady Wetherstone, who had complained so of a nervous headache that her husband had summoned the local doctor. A dose of laudanum reassured the Wetherstones about Highland medicine but had confined the lady to her bed for the day. Afterward, Mr. Grant had joined the others in the drawing room, and he and Arthur Fitzgibbon had discussed sightseeing opportunities on a such a rainy day.

  Greeting Kenneth Grant coolly, Catriona had taken her music pages into the library and had asked Mrs. Baird to ensure her privacy. Although she could not avoid Grant indefinitely, she did not want to see him so soon after spending the night in Evan's arms. Nothing could be allowed to spoil that.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Evan stepped inside. As she looked up, her heart gave a quick, girlish flutter.

  "Catriona, pardon me," he said quietly. "I know you wanted some time to yourself in here. I need but a moment."

  "Come in." She sat forward, some of the papers spilling unnoticed to the floor. "What is it?" She wondered, wi
th a quick and guilty nervousness, if he wanted to talk to her about Finlay.

  He strode toward her and half knelt to retrieve the pages, handing them back to her. "Reverend Wilkie came to me not long ago to say that they are all looking forward to attending services at Glenachan in the morning. So we'll all be going, I suppose."

  "Oh! And you will, too?" She realized with a quick tug in her heart, how much she had missed her father, despite the bad episode surrounding her hasty marriage. When he nodded, she continued. "My father conducts prayers and the reading of The Book early in the morning before service," she said. "I will be expected."

  "Then we'll both be there. I'll tell the others we'll meet them at the kirk."

  "Thank you." She smiled, grateful for his willingness to respect her family and relieved that he had not brought up the subject of Finlay or the tenants.

  "Are you rewriting some of the songs we had to burn," he said, glancing at her pages, "to keep each other warm?" She saw a gleam in his eyes and felt an answering swirl within herself.

  She nodded. "I'm nearly done with those, and I'm also writing down a few that Morag MacLeod taught me this week."

  "How many do you have in total?"

  "With these, a hundred and thirty-four songs, all done in Gaelic and English, with musical scale and whatever interesting annotations I've learned about the songs."

  He stood, and she did, too. "That's quite an admirable task you've taken on. I'm proud of you. Is it nearly done?"

  "A collection of the old Gaelic songs could never be complete. I suspect there are literally thousands of songs all over the Highlands and Islands—no one knows for sure. It would take a lifetime to discover them all. I've set out to learn the songs of the northwest Highlands. In the last few years, I've visited every croft house in this glen and many in the neighboring glens," she said. "And I've traveled as far beyond that as my father would allow me, to meet with the singers who were said to know the music."

  He slid an arm around her waist. "No wonder you are adamant about staying in the Highlands."

  "I must, Evan," she said. "For the songs and for other reasons—I simply cannot leave here."

  "But once you've gathered the songs, you can refine the collection anywhere. And in Edinburgh, there are publishers who would no doubt be very interested in your work."

  She pulled away a little. "Still thinking about selling?"

  He pressed her to him. "Last night," he murmured, "we agreed on peace for a while on this subject—at least until our guests are gone and we can discuss this more freely."

  "Aye," she said, frowning. "We did. But I will not leave here, and I'm not interested in publishing the songs."

  "No? Scottish ballads are very popular now."

  "And prettified for the public," she pointed out. "I could not do that to these songs. The songs are part of the soul of the Celtic Highlands. I began to collect them when I realized, after so many people left this glen and took the old songs with them, that I could help save the music as our culture disappeared from the Highlands."

  "You love this place, and its heritage." He paused, and in his expression she saw understanding and respect. With his arm still around her, he turned and they crossed the room to the fireplace, where a large portrait was hung over the mantel.

  "This was painted a few years before his death," Evan said.

  The oil painting was a half-length portrait of the previous earl, Evan's father. She had never met him in person—had never wanted to—yet now she felt curious about him.

  Tilting her head, she studied the picture. Despite the gray hair, bullish build, and broad waistline, he resembled his son in the handsome, chiseled planes of his face and the brilliant hazel-green eyes, but in the puckered brow and downturned mouth she saw discontent and the unforgiving expression of a lonely, angry man.

  "What made your mother leave him, Evan?" she asked softly.

  He sighed. "My mother is a strong-willed person, as he was," he said. "She loves the Highlands as deeply as you, I think—and is still active in ladies' charities to benefit the Highlanders. She will approve of you quite heartily, I think." He squeezed her shoulder a little. "But when I was a lad, she disagreed with my father's decision to expand the estate and fill it with sheep runs and hunting reserves to expand his fortune. And she hated his cold treatment of his tenants but could do nothing to stop him. He could be harsh," he went on, "but he loved her in his way. I think he grew worse when she left. He might have changed for the better if he could have given up that unbreakable pride of his. He could never admit that he was wrong. She might have stayed, otherwise."

  She leaned her head on his shoulder. "His son did not inherit those qualities, so far as I can see."

  "Thank you," he murmured. "I hope not. Though I hope I have some of his intellect and his determination."

  She wrapped her arm around his waist. Remembering last night's passion and gentleness in his arms, a delicate thrill of pleasure went through her. She felt safe and wanted. Loved, she thought.

  Yet she knew that Evan still had secrets, and she wondered if she would ever learn the truth of those.

  Evan tipped his head. "Catriona, I have been meaning to ask you something."

  "Aye?" She waited, heart pounding, considering the track of her thoughts.

  "Years ago, on the last day my father evicted people," he said, so low it was nearly a growl, "I was there."

  "I know," she said softly. "I saw you with him."

  "When I left the glen that day," he went on, "I was angry. My father and I fought bitterly about his actions. I thought I would never return here again."

  She looked up, felt a wash of sympathy for him and for what he must have endured as the son and heir of an arrogant, selfish man. She waited, listening.

  "I knew what he was doing was wrong. But," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders, "as I rode off that day, I heard a young woman singing. She stood on a hill, her hair bright as copper,"—he brushed his hand over her red-gold hair under its net—"and the song she sang went deep into my heart. I shared her grief, though she could not have known that."

  "She knows it now," Catriona said softly.

  "So it was you that day. And I heard you singing the day I fell down the mountainside. I was lost in the fog, and heard the voice—your voice—through the mist and that helped me find the drover's path."

  "I was coming back from walking out with Morag," she said, her voice hushed with awe. "I was practicing the song she had just taught me. I never knew that you heard it."

  "Your song saved me." He wrapped in his embrace, and she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "So let me help you in return, again. What can I can do?"

  She looked up at him in surprise. "Help me how, Evan?"

  "My father's actions caused a lot of grief in this glen. I know that. And I know you are doing your best to try to save that heritage. Is there some way I can help you?"

  For a long moment, she stared at him, amazed. His sincerity was genuine, and she felt a surge of trust and gratitude.

  But she could not tell him about Finlay and the tenants—not yet, though she was beginning to feel that she could confide in him one day soon and that he would understand. Remembering Kenneth Grant's threats, she knew she must wait a little longer, until she had spoken with Grant again—as much as she dreaded that—and persuaded him to leave it be.

  Then she knew what she could ask of him. She had not told him about Flora and her fairy songs yet. Now she explained quickly about the oldest fairy tunes.

  "The fairy music is said to be unique to Glen Shee," she went on, while he nodded his understanding. "They have a special magic of their own. If I leave Kildonan and Glen Shee, I can never learn those songs. And then who will? Flora will not share them with just anyone, and they will disappear. She is very old and very stubborn."

  "She is willing to teach you?"

  "She will, if I pass a test." She told him about the fairy stone that Flora wanted from her.
"It is the price of those precious songs. I must do this."

  He gave a dry laugh. "And I thought you took no risks!"

  "I am learning," she said, "from you."

  Leaning forward, he kissed her brow. "I would go up to the mountain and get the stone for you," he said, "but you need to do that yourself, I think, for her. But I can help you get up there safely. And judging by the enthusiastic planning I have heard around here in the last couple of days, that mountain will be very crowded. What do you say, Catriona Bhan?"

  Half laughing, Catriona flowed back into his arms. He kissed her, then again, each one sweeter and newer than the last, while the rain drummed against the windows.

  Then he drew back, catching her hips firmly against his, rocking with her a little. Not only did she know what he wanted, she wanted it, too, here and now, her heart pounding fast with the very thought.

  "So, my love, you requested privacy in here," he murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose to hers.

  "I did," she whispered, and her body began to pulse and ache for him, knowing his secrets as he knew hers.

  "Good," he said, and he drew her away from the fireplace and the overbearing portrait gallery. Tugging on her hand, he pulled her into a small book-lined alcove that held a single leather armchair. He drew her into that confined space and bent to touch his lips to hers in a swift, hard kiss that plunged through her like tender lightning.

  Catching her breath, she leaned back in his embrace and wrapped her arms around him. As his hands loosened the buttons of her blouse and as she tugged at his jacket, she began to laugh softly, for a feeling bubbled up through her, a mix of joy and freedom, of passion and delight. Fumbling with his clothing as he fingered the buttons of hers, she kissed him and pressed against him, while he chuckled with her.

  "I think we'd better hurry," she whispered, catching him in another fast, fresh, hungry kiss.