by Dawn Brower
“Don’t say such things,” her aunt clucked. “You’re young and beautiful and not at fault that your father made a match with a known rogue. There will be others.”
She shook her head. “I’m as good as ruined. That kind of scandal, only the most desperate of men would even consider—”
“Lass, England isn’t the only place to find a future. Even your father chose a Scottish bride.”
She shook her head. “I’ll never open myself up like that again.” While she hadn’t envisioned herself a spinster, she couldn’t see herself marrying either. And if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be to someone so carelessly handsome like Ewan. She’d need someone safe.
“Oh, Clarissa. Don’t let a man you didn’t even love close your heart.” Aunt Rhona’s eyes pleaded with her.
Giving a nod, Clarissa kept her thoughts to herself. She couldn’t imagine trusting like that ever again.
Long after her aunt had left the library those words reverberated through her chest.
With Clarissa gone, Ewan attempted to focus his attention on the ride and the woman he was here to court.
Fiona was everything he’d expected a wife to be. Her horsemanship was excellent, her ability to ride tireless, and even when it began to drizzle, she pushed forward, first to reach the loch. This was the type of woman who could work alongside him to repair his land.
But with her energy came a tireless need for adventure, which filled him with dread. He’d had all the adventure one life could handle, and now he wanted to rest in the country with a simple life.
His mind kept drifting to the library. Before they’d left, he’d heard Clarissa say that was where she would be. He envisioned her tucked by the fire, book in hand, steaming pot of tea by her side.
It sounded…divine. And as they approached the loch, he looked over the darkening water in the drizzle and realized that the grey blue of Clarissa’s eyes were exactly the color of the water on a cloudy day.
But that didn’t matter. So what if she looked like a piece of Scotland? She was English, and though he wouldn’t denigrate her any longer for it, it still didn’t change the fact that she’d likely want to continue her life in London. She deserved it. He could see by her gowns she came from wealth. What did he have to offer really? Years of war and a broken-down piece of land.
A rider appeared on the other side of the loch. He was wearing the green and red tartan of the Campbell Clan.
Fiona kicked her horse forward, “What are ye doin’ here?” she called out angrily.
The other riders had caught up and he heard Emilia and Ainsley giggling.
“Out with it now, lassies. What is so funny?”
Emilia hid her smile, trying to look innocent but Ainsley burst out, “That’s Colin Campbell. Colin and Fiona are always at odds. Mum swears they’re sweet on each other.”
“Ainsley McDougal,” Emilia chastised. “Stop your prattling.”
Belatedly Ainsley realized the implication of what she had said. But Ewan only shrugged. It was not so uncommon for a woman or a man to fancy someone else when a marriage was arranged.
It didn’t mean they wouldn’t suit one another.
With that in mind, he kicked his horse forward to join Fiona’s conversation.
As he approached, he could hear the arguing, but he couldn’t make out the words. Finally he caught Colin say, “You’d be married already if ye learned to curb your tongue.”
He could only see a third of Fiona’s face, but that third turned bright red at his words. “You’ve got to do better than that, Colin Campbell. Everyone knows no decent woman would have ye.”
“It’s not a decent woman that I’m—”
“Hey now,” Ewan called, intentionally interrupting the exchange. Those were no words to be saying to a lady, whether Fiona could handle them or not. If someone had spoken them to Clarissa… He forced his mind to focus back on Fiona.
“And who are ye?” Colin’s eyes raked up and down them.
“Lord McDougal is my intended.” She threw the words at Colin as though throwing a stone. Colin’s head snapped back, eyes blinking, and Ewan felt as shocked as Colin looked.
There had been no formal arrangement made. Up to this point, he could climb on his horse and return home with only a thank you. But her declaration changed things entirely.
But it was only to Colin and out of anger. Surely the other man would understand if he explained they weren’t formally…
“Well that’s wonderful news,” Ainsley chirped behind him. “Da will be so happy to hear it.”
His teeth snapped together and Fiona whipped her head around, panic making her eyes bulge as they met his. She clearly hadn’t meant to say the words but now they were out and there was no taking them back.
Colin gave a terse shake of his head. “Congratulations to ye both.” Then he turned his horse and was gone.
There was nothing to be said with the rest of the party watching and so he stared absently at the lake, a sick pit of dread filling his stomach.
He’d come here to court Fiona, he told himself. But Clarissa’s image danced behind his eyelids. Which was absurd; he hardly knew her and he wasn’t interested in an English lady.
She could barely ride a horse. She spoke with an English accent.
She smelled like flowers in the rain.
Emilia and Ainsley seemed to sense that something was wrong. They were silently appraising both Fiona and him. Kieran stood off to the side, whistling. For once, he wasn’t complaining about the mist falling. Only Agnes seemed unaffected. She stood at the shore of the loch taking in the mountains and the water, oblivious to the drama unfolding behind her.
Finally Emilia cleared her throat, “The rain is worsening. Let’s return.”
They all returned to their horses, Agnes giving the loch one final glance. “Scottish lochs may be the most beautiful sight in the world.”
Kieran gave her a wink. “You should see the loch my home sits on. Puts this to shame.”
“Oh, I’d like to see that.” Agnes nodded as Kieran aided her onto her horse.
Ewan turned to help Fiona, but she’d seated herself already. Like a true Scottish lass.
Why did getting exactly what he wanted make him feel miserable?
Chapter 6
Clarissa glanced out the window of the library when the party returned, glad to see them back. She still ached inside, but a little less than she had this morning. Perhaps someday, her anger and sadness would abate.
It also occurred to her that some of her resentment toward Ewan was just a redistribution of her anger at Lord Davenport, whom she hadn’t allowed an audience before she left London. In retrospect she should have seen him, if only to tell him how much she hated him and every breath he took.
But that wasn’t Ewan’s fault and while she had labeled him a rake, he had no real commitment to Fiona. Perhaps she’d misjudged the situation.
Ainsley and Emilia rushed into the library, their eyes wide, as they approached her.
“Fiona declared her engagement to Lord McDougal,” Ainsley burst out.
Clarissa’s hands balled into fists. She hadn’t misjudged at all. He was giving her long glances while tying himself to her cousin.
“She can’t marry him,” her voice was far breathier than she intended. “He’s ill-intentioned.”
“It’s not his fault that Fiona is so hot-headed.” Emilia gave her a curious stare.
Clarissa blinked twice, absorbing those words. As Emilia rushed through the explanation of what had happened, Clarissa’s shoulders sagged. It didn’t matter, she told herself. That he hadn’t actually been acting as a rake made no difference, even if her heart cried that it did. She’d no intention of marrying, especially not a man courting her beloved cousin, but somehow it filled her with loneliness to see them actually paired. But perhaps she’d feel that way no matter what. It wasn’t any feelings toward Ewan, simply a reminder that she wouldn’t marry as all of her cousins would.
&nb
sp; Walking into the foyer, she saw Ewan softly whispering in her ear. Clarissa had no idea what he said, but Fiona nodded several times. His hand was on Fiona’s elbow, and she leaned her head down, almost touching his chest as he spoke.
The pose was so intimate that a stab of pain pierced her chest. She turned her head away. It didn’t matter. But all the same, she couldn’t watch them snuggled together, deep in an intimate discussion.
Holding her book, she decided she might read after all. Perhaps in her room, or mayhap she’d find the attic, or an outbuilding. Somewhere far away from the scene unfolding.
Ewan’s gaze caught hers and she inhaled sharply. She quickly schooled her features into a blank expression, but she feared he’d seen her look of pain before it had been erased.
She knew now that Scotland hadn’t been far enough to escape her heartache. Not even close. If anything, this was worse. Perhaps she should move to America.
Turning away, she slowly climbed the stairs to her room. What she needed was to be alone.
But that wasn’t meant to be. Two hours later, Agnes opened her door, huffing and tossing herself onto the bed. Ainsley followed, looking equally sullen.
“It is generally polite to knock.” She raised her eyebrows as Ainsley also threw herself across the bed.
“What?” Agnes titled her head to look at her. “My apologies.” She waved her hand, dismissing her gaff.
“They left without us,” Ainsley pouted.
“Who?” Clarissa asked, attempting to keep up with the conversation.
“Lord McKenna, Lord McDougal, Fiona, and Emilia.” Agnes huffed as though it should be obvious. “They said the weather had cleared and they wished to go on a proper ride.”
“We said we would join them, but we were told this was a smaller party and not to bother.” Ainsley crossed her arms over her chest.
“I don’t like Lord McKenna.” Agnes burst out. “It was surely his idea to leave us out. I bet he doesn’t like us simply because we’re English.”
Clarissa bit back a smile. It eased some of her ache. “Lord McDougal is the one who’s spoken out against the English.”
“That’s right and what has that got to do with me?” Ainsley stuck her thumb in her chest.
Agnes rolled her eyes. “You’re too young to understand.”
“You’re only three years older than me.” Ainsley stood, her hands planted on her hips.
“It’s an important three years.” Agnes placed her hands on her hips as though it made her an authority. “I’ll come out next season and…”
“English snob.” Ainsley stuck out her tongue.
“See,” Agnes pointed at her. “Childish.”
Clarissa cleared her throat. “I’m sure they had a perfectly good reason.” Taking a breath, she pushed through the next words. “Fiona and Lord McDougal are getting married. And perhaps Lord McKenna has decided to court Emilia. She has such a lovely—”
But she stopped because Agnes had given a tiny, almost inaudible gasp. Looking at her cousin, she could see that Agnes had paled and her lips trembled. Perhaps Agnes didn’t dislike Lord McKenna quite as much as she had declared.
Dinner that evening, with all the company assembled, may have been one of the most uncomfortable events she’d attended in quite some time. Besides her own engagement party, of course.
Fiona was silent and sullen. Though why that would be, Clarissa had no idea.
Ainsley and Agnes were still angry. Agnes mostly pouted, which was in stark contrast to her normally bubbly personality, while Ainsley did her best to throw barbs at every opportunity.
“How was the ride?” Uncle Haggis asked.
“Lovely,” Ewan had answered.
“I wish I knew.” Ainsley stuck out her lip.
Ewan cleared his throat, looking at her uncle. “The morning ride was rained out and so we took a second, smaller party out in the afternoon.”
Uncle Haggis winked. “Of course. Small groups make for better conversation.” Than he chuckled at his own meaning.
Both Ewan and Fiona gave him a strained smile.
Kieran joined in the chuckle. “Interesting conversation, indeed.”
Agnes whipped her head around. “If you had any manners, you’d conduct yourself as a gentleman.”
His eyebrows rose. “There was nothing ungentlemanly in what I just said.”
Agnes tossed her napkin on her plate. “And what about sitting on your horse while women are stranded on the side of the road?”
“Agnes,” Aunt Judith chastised. “What has gotten into all of you this evening?”
Aunt Judith looked to Clarissa with a questioning glance but Clarissa understood as little as her aunt. She would have to speak with Agnes and find out.
Ewan knew exactly what was happening within the group at the table, which didn’t improve his mood whatsoever. Clarissa had not looked at him once, nor had she spoken a word.
He’d seen the way she’d looked at him and Fiona. But there was nothing to do for it. He’d not let Fiona be shunned as a jilted bride, even it meant his own happiness. He was first and foremost a man of honor, and that meant standing by Fiona, rather than allowing her to be ruined. But damn, it was difficult. Every glance at Clarissa heated his blood. He wanted to explore those feelings with her, not tie himself to Fiona.
He considered explaining it to her but then thought better of it. It somehow implied there was something between them when there wasn’t.
As dinner finished, several members of the party shot up, as though they couldn’t wait to exit the dining room.
Uncle Haggis looked at Aunt Rhona as though they’d all gone mad. “Everyone to the music room.” He clapped his hands. “McDougals don’t go to bed early.”
If they could have, they’d all have groaned aloud. But the group dutifully filed up the main stairs and into the spacious music room.
Agnes clapped when she saw the pianoforte at one end of the room. “You have one!”
“It’s Scotland, not the ends of the earth.” Ainsley grumped. She was likely still angry about their discussion earlier.
“Is it all right if I play?” she asked.
Uncle Haggis gave her a broad smile, “Of course, lass. That’s why we’re here.”
She seated herself on the bench and tested a few keys. Clarissa also loved to play. She and Agnes spent hours practicing. After Agnes’s father had passed two years ago, her cousin and aunt came to live with her family. Clarissa had actually missed her first season to mourn with them.
Lord Davenport had begun his courtship before she’d even officially come out. She supposed she’d never had a real season, not that it mattered to her.
Agnes broke into a light and playful song that melted any melancholy off her face.
Everyone broke into a smile as her skillful fingers danced over the keys. Her aunts began to clap, swaying to the music while Emilia grabbed Ainsley’s arm and, pulling her from the chair, broke into a jig.
Clarissa grinned too, clapping with her aunts. Even Fiona returned to herself, jumping up and circling around her sisters.
Kieran had the largest grin of all. “It soothes my tired soul.” He tilted his head back, letting the music wash over him.
As the song ended, Agnes turned to Clarissa. “Why don’t you play that Highland song you’ve been working on?”
Clarissa hesitated. It was mournful song about the tyranny of the English. Her mother had insisted she learn it but the mournful strains had spoken to her. She was sure Ewan would likely enjoy it but it would depress the mood that had just lifted. “It’s awfully melancholy.”
Agnes waved her hand. “It’s Aunt Fenella’s favorite and Clarissa plays it beautifully.”
It was, indeed, her mother’s favorite song that Clarissa played. Clarissa took a seat on the bench, going through each section of the song in her mind. Taking a breath, she tapped a few keys to test them and then struck the first notes.
She hadn’t played since everything had h
appened. But all the pain and humiliation rushed to her fingertips and cried out in the notes of the song. She didn’t look at anyone, she barely looked at anything, even the keys in front of her, as all that emotion poured into the song.
The sadness, anger, inability to affect change. Every note struck an emotional chord. Each stroke of a key coming from her heart until the very last note died.
No one had made a sound through the piece and it took a few moments before she could bring herself to open her eyes.
Slowly, fluttering them open, she looked to the assembled guests. Aunt Judith sat crying, tears silently sliding down her face. When their eyes locked, her aunt’s face spasmed in pain. “I can’t imagine how much it hurt, Clarissa.”
“Please don’t.” Her eyes searched every face then, to see their reaction. Aunt Rhona held her hands over her mouth while Fiona and Emilia looked at their laps.
Uncle Haggis reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. That almost undid her, because she’d never seen her uncle cry.
Last, her eyes met Ewan’s. He had given up his seat and stood two steps in front of the settee he’d been seated on, his hand partially raised toward her. His face was a mask of stone, his brows drawn together, though she didn’t know if he pitied her or was simply reacting to the emotion of the song. But she didn’t want to find out.
“I…I’m very tired. I think I’ll go to bed.” She stood abruptly, knocking the bench backward.
Uncle Haggis stood then too. He shook his head. “I love ye like my own daughter. So I’m going to tell you that it’s time to stop running. Most of all, from yer family and from yer self.”
Words failed her as the truth of the statement slammed into her. She’d physically run from London, but emotionally she ducked away every time it was difficult. She gave a nod to acknowledge her uncle but couldn’t make her voice work to answer. Clearing her throat, she finally answered, “I will.”
Then she turned to pick up the bench and suddenly Ewan was next to her. She couldn’t look at him and so she struggled to right the bench instead. Strong hands lifted the wooden frame she’d been grasping to haul it back up.