Questions for a Highlander

by Angeline Fortin

  “He does seem to be,” she readily agreed. “I will admit I haven’t had the opportunity to acquaint myself well with your other brothers yet. Tam, Ian, and Connor?” she asked pointing out into the room. “And Dorian? Am I right?”

  Francis nodded. “Just so. Dorian leaves tomorrow to return to Cambridge so you might not have the opportunity to get to know him well just yet.”

  Connor MacKintosh noticed them, and Eve’s gesture in his direction, and wandered over making a bow to Eve. “My pleasure, my lady.”

  “Very nicely done, Connor,” Eve returned as he favored her with a mischievous grin. “I was just asking Lord Glenrothes about all his siblings,” she explained, before an assumption could be made about their long conversation.

  Connor thanked her as she poured a cup of tea for him as well, indicating that he should join them. “The unruly mob, you mean?” he jested as he sat on a nearby bench, flicking his coat tails out with some flair. “Alas, I am one of the younger lads with only Dorian coming between myself and the wee Heather Blossom,” he admitted. Eve calculated that would make him around a score of years or just a bit more. Of all the MacKintosh brothers, Connor favored Francis the most. In fact, he looked so much like Francis had when she first met him that it made her heart skip a bit to even look at him.

  “I must admit my curiosity,” Eve inserted shaking the thought away, “why do you call Fiona ‘Heather Blossom’?”

  The two men chuckled and shared a look. Francis replied, “Because when she was a bairn and very temperamental, Father said once that she was as prickly as a new heather blossom before it bloomed. It stuck, I guess, as we all call her that. She can still be very prickly, as you may have gathered. In truth, she is quite spoiled.”

  Connor made a rude noise that indicated he thought it was an understatement. “I heard my name mentioned from across the room, Francis,” Fiona said as she skipped over and plopped unceremoniously down next to the younger MacKintosh brother. “What were you referring to?”

  “Simply what a prickly child you are,” Connor told her, tugging her ribbons.

  “I am not a child anymore, Connor!” she protested with a stamp of her foot, while her hands flew to her hair to contain the damage. “I am almost seventeen and Francis said I can make my debut next year.”

  Francis choked. “I said maybe!” he protested.

  Fiona crossed her arms and gave him a look that Eve thought would cow a lesser man. Perhaps she had been spending too much time with Abby of late, Eve thought with an inner smile, handing the girl a cup of tea as well.

  Francis made a quick recovery and changed the subject nicely before Fiona could exact an immediate response from him. “Heather Blossom, Lady Shaftesbury was bragging the other day about her skill on the links.”

  The girl was easily diverted by what was apparently a favorite subject. “Perhaps we should make up a foursome then!” Fiona offered. “We could take the train up one day this week and make a day of it.”

  “That sounds lovely.”

  “I should warn you though, my lady, I am quite good as is Francis. He’s a member of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club at St. Andrew’s, you know.”

  “I did not,” Eve glanced at Francis with all the appropriate awe that Fiona seemed to think that information required. His eyes returned the humorous sparkle.

  “What of me?” Connor asked offended.

  “Well,” Fiona reluctantly allowed, “Connor is not too bad either.”

  “You have me quite cowering in my boots, Lady Fiona,” Eve returned seriously, though her eyes twinkled to Francis.

  “You know, Lady Shaftesbury,” Fiona offered as she studied the countess. “You don’t seem to be at all like the stick I imaged you to be, given what I had heard.”

  “Fiona!” Francis choked on his own tea and stared at his sister in astonishment.

  “Well, she doesn’t,” his sister defended. She glanced over at Eve. “It is a compliment, you know.”

  “If that’s a compliment, you need to go back to school,” Francis growled.

  “Indeed,” Connor agreed, though his eyes were dancing.

  Fiona shrugged and turned her attention to Eve. “Truly though, you seem more approachable today than at the castle, perhaps it was just the pressure of planning the ball and all that. I haven’t seen you smile a single time before now, you know.”

  Eve opened her fan and waved it casually, staring back at Fiona. “No, I did not know. I’m sorry if I had offended.”

  “Offended me?” she laughed. “Never! I just like to be around people who are cheerful and happy. I can see I was wrong about you before. At least you are nothing like Francis’ damned wife.”

  “Fiona!” Both Connor and Francis chastised her now as she gazed innocently back at them.

  “Well, she’s not!” A look of guilt took over her features then, and she turned with concern back to Eve. “I’m sorry, my lady, did you not know Francis was once married? I am so sorry. Not many people remember, despite what he thinks. But he’s divorced from her now, so it’s alright.”

  “I knew,” Eve whispered, half in horror, while the other half was nearly hysterical with the blunt honesty of the girl. And she had thought herself to be forthright at that age! She’d had nothing on Fiona MacKintosh.

  Fiona waved her tea cup in the air before taking a sip. “Well, worry not, my lady. Nessa is the veriest bitch anyone has ever met. You needn’t worry how you compare.”

  Francis swallowed the rest of his tea in a single swallow and motioned to a footman for something stronger. A man could be driven to drunkenness when dealing with his sister, he thought, and soon there would be no stopping her! “Blossom, my dear, I am sure there must be another topic that would be more pleasant.”

  “I hardly think so,” Eve teased him. In truth, it was a relief to hear that no one thought well of Francis’ wife. It made it much easier to consider their situation with that knowledge at hand. The possibility of a tryst she once intended to avoid by a hasty retreat back to England. Now Francis’s return to Edinburgh carried her thoughts off again on a tangent of desire versus propriety.

  “Enough, you two,” Francis frowned fiercely, and received no grander response than raised eyebrows from the ladies.

  Fiona sighed and conceded. “Oh, very well! Tell me, my lady, have you ever played St. Andrews before?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Eve responded conversationally with a wink to Fiona. “Please tell me what one may expect.”

  “Well, they are still working on the New Course so it isn’t open yet, but the Old Course…” And off the girl rambled, filling the remainder of the evening with what was clearly a favorite topic.

  Chapter 25

  “I have been noticing these last several days how Francis looks at you,” Moira commented playfully, as she and Eve rocked Abby’s twins in the nursery a few mornings later. “All the hot looks and long, whispered conversations… Even when you were amid Connor and Fiona the other night, it was as if all you saw was each other.”

  Though Francis had elected to keep his distance, respecting her choice to maintain a more friendly relationship, he had Eve sent flowers each morning with a note requesting a ride through the park, which they did daily. He took her to the botanical gardens and on a tour of Edinburgh Castle. When he joined them for dinner each evening, he could not control the way his eyes followed her, nor could she stop watching him with equal intensity. When they went out to the theater or assembly, however, Francis managed to maintain a façade of polite courtesy as she had asked, but marked with enough interest that a casual observer might think that the earl was courting her. It seemed that others had noticed. “I don’t know what you mean…” Eve murmured dismissively.

  “Lud, Evie, don’t pull that social camouflage on me,” her friend scolded. “I’ve known you since you were fourteen years old. Besides,” Moira winked conspiratorially, “Kitty to wrote to me all about how she caught you kissing Francis in his grandmother’s garden, years ago
.”

  Deep red color infused Eve’s face. “Moira!”

  Moira continued to rock wee Bryn thoughtfully. “Who knows what might come of it? When true love is at stake…”

  Eve snorted at her friend’s flowery prose. “Francis is not serious in his intentions and I know I would never marry again anyway. It is a mild flirtation, nothing more,” Eve protested. Give over control of her every thought and action again? Doubtful! “Besides, we must be leaving to go home soon if you’d like to make a showing for the Season.”

  “Well, maybe you should just have a brief love affair then.”

  “Moira MacKenzie! How can you say such a thing?” Eve was shocked that her friend would even think such a thing, much less mention it aloud.

  Moira laughed at Eve’s outrage. “So you haven’t thought on it?”

  “Of course not! It wouldn’t be–”

  “Proper?” Moira interrupted. “Maybe not, but think on this, Eve. When he kisses you… er, he has kissed you, yes?” Eve nodded jerkily. “Well, I’d wager, being a MacKintosh lad as he is, it was wonderful. Yes?” Eve’s cheeks flushed, which was answer enough for Moira. “Then think, how wonderful would it be to do even more with him?”

  Images swam through Eve’s mind. Visions of his big, muscular body pressed against hers. Of his mouth on hers, his hands touching, caressing. Moira chuckled as Eve’s light blush turned into a full flush. “There you are then. Think on that and see where it takes you.”

  “It is completely improper to be having such a discussion with an unmarried woman,” Eve said primly.

  “Well, don’t discuss then, but keep thinking about it and then think about how much you’d regret it if he were gone, or you left before you had a chance to do something about it.” She glanced up slyly. “Think about his big townhouse, how empty it is since his brothers and Fiona left for Glen Cairn this morning. All alone in that big house…”

  Images and emotions flowed through Eve. The very thought that she was considering it!

  “You are Satan’s messenger, Moira MacKenzie. No doubt about it.”

  “No doubt.”

  When the ladies were finally released to the sitting room after dinner that night, Eve breathed a sigh of relief. Francis had again joined them for dinner even though his siblings had gone back to Glen Cairn. Jack was out for the evening, leaving just Richard, Abby, Moira and her aunt to keep a barrier of comfort between Eve and Francis. The small numbers couldn’t buffer the tension between them. Through the meal he had teased and tweaked her at every opportunity. Touching her hands, her waist, he had even gone so far as to kiss the side of her neck when he bent over to seat her. When she had reprimanded him for it, he had simply stated that he could barely keep his hands or mind off her.

  He wanted her, he made that obvious, as surely as she wanted him. Was there any doubt he had come back to Edinburgh to complete his seduction? Despite his assurance that he would not do so, he might attempt an affair before she was gone. But, ahh, the question! Did she want him badly enough to become his lover?

  She pondered that question as she, Abby, Moira and Edith took tea in the parlor. Since most everyone had departed during the day, the room was no longer filled with the boisterous conversations of many overlapping one another, but rather the quiet tones of her dearest friends.

  The gentlemen would return soon, and Eve knew she had little time for consideration before Francis continued his assault on her senses.

  Abby drew Eve into the conversation she and Moira were engaging in. “So, Moira tells me you called her Satan’s messenger today, Eve.”

  “Indeed, I did,” Eve replied cautiously, sipping her tea. “And did she tell you why?”

  “Indeed, I did,” Moira teased. “I told her all about how you should fall into Francis’ arms and become his lover.”

  “Moira!” Eve hissed, and looked over at great-aunt Edith dozing by the fire. “Shush!”

  Both of her friends laughed aloud to her further discomfiture. “Abby! How can you not be appalled by such a suggestion?”

  Abby patted her hand as she continued to chuckle. “I am sorry for laughing, dear. But the Eve Preston I know would and should laugh as well.”

  “Things have changed.” Eve struggled with herself, wanting to shake off the cloak of perfection and be her true self once more, yet was unable to or perhaps feared what such a reversal would mean to her.

  “Then they should change back,” Abby stated firmly. “William is gone. The person he molded you into was never truly you. Eve Preston concerned with what is proper? It’s not you, and you know it!”

  Eve’s deepest fear prompted her to whisper, “What if I cannot? What if my old self is lost?”

  “It’s not, dear,” Moira said matter-of-factly. “You’ve peeked out a few times this week. Mostly, I might add, in the company of Francis MacKintosh. He’s good for you, you know?”

  “And you are good for him,” Abby added.

  Eve frowned at Abby. “What do you mean, Abby?”

  Abby took her time sipping her tea. “The Francis MacKintosh I have seen this week is not one I have seen in many years.”

  “Not since we were girls,” Moira added.

  “In what way?” To her mind he hadn’t changed one whit since she had met him years ago. Certainly he was more mature, but still the teasing, humorous man she had met years before.

  Her friends passed a significant look before Abby answered. “The Glenrothes we know has long been a very bitter man, Eve. He has suffered in his marriage for reasons that I believe he might have told you about. He has turned that suffering into acrimony for almost all women, a lack of faith in love and fidelity which led to self-imposed isolation and general nastiness of character. But this week…”

  “He’s been so carefree,” Moira told her.

  “Happy,” Abby added. “Relaxed, engaging, humorous. It is all because of you.”

  “Me?” Eve squeaked.

  “Yes, and I think that there was much more to your initial meeting all those years ago than you have ever let on,” Moira pried with obvious relish. “Much more than a kiss in the garden, wasn’t it? Did you…?”

  “No!” Eve blushed hotly. “Nothing like that! It’s just that when I met him, I knew… I can’t explain it.”

  “You don’t have to,” Abby told her squeezing her hand. “If there is one thing that Moira and I can both understand, it is falling in love at first sight with a MacKintosh man.”

  “I’m not in love with him!” Eve protested, and when her friends rolled their eyes, insisted, “I’m not! I don’t want to be!”

  “Sometimes it isn’t about what you want,” Moira whispered in a confidential fashion.

  “You are good for each other,” Abby agreed. “You’ve talked to him, Eve. Understood him. You are so good together. Each of you makes the other contented. It surrounds you when you are close and is so obvious to those who care for you. There is so much more between you to be discovered. Embrace it! Normally I would not condone, much less encourage, such behavior. However, I believe you and Francis need each other and will be all the better for it.”

  But could it be so simple? She very much feared it was.

  Chapter 26

  Moira yawned hugely a short while later and made her excuses, rousing her aunt from her nap and leading her upstairs. Abby also left the room, promising to waylay her husband and to give Eve a chance to talk to Francis alone. Trying to clear her mind of the question that nagged at her, Evelyn stood before the fireplace, staring up at a large portrait of Francis and his brothers as young boys with an older man and lovely woman that she assumed were his parents. Eve studied Francis’ father trying to decide why he would press Francis into marrying at such a young age a girl who, though equal in years to Francis, would have been much more mature at eighteen than he. Idly, she wondered what his former wife looked like.

  What to do? Her mind warred with her heart. On the one hand, Eve was certain it was in her best interest to avoid
any further entanglements with Francis. Such evasion would protect not only her reputation but her heart. If she had thought a couple of days ago that she just might simply return to England with her heart intact and this time with the earl but a pleasant memory, she had been fooling herself. Eve knew now that she would carry him with her always, would forever wonder what might have come if she had surrendered to him. Whether such submission would make things worse for her when the end did come between them, she knew not. But it crystallized in her mind then that she would be more a fool not to have what she might of him while she could. In her soul, she knew that any time spent with a man such as Francis MacKintosh would bear no regrets.

  Even though the silence of the room was unchanged, Eve knew the moment he entered the parlor behind her. Francis. The air became charged with electricity and awareness. His body behind her became a physical pressure, even when he was several feet away. Her own body tensed in response. Waiting. She was not disappointed.

  Francis leaned toward her from behind and breathed in the compelling scent of her perfume. That exotic fragrance, a blend of soft, sweet vanilla, oak moss and jasmine as well as fruity notes of fresh citrus and orange flowers, was a memory in itself.

  Hypnotic. Romantic. Seductive.

  His fingers savored the silky feel of her bare arm as his hand slid from her shoulder and down the length of her arm to take her hand. A memory of that moment eight years before haunted the corners of his mind and for a moment he could almost smell the flowers of his grandmother’s garden and hear the distant melody of the orchestra. The rush of feeling that gripped his chest made him close his eyes to hold that moment forever.

  Though Eve flinched slightly at the initial contact, the familiarity of his touch brought a charge of feeling to her as well. For years she had remembered it, dreamed of it and longed for it. As she closed her eyes, she wondered if she wanted it so badly she could have manufactured this moment.