by Lucy Gillen
portrait that hung part way down the staircase. It attracted her without her quite knowing why, and she stopped in front of it for a moment or two, studying it with professional interest as well as curiosity about the sitter.,
A plaque along the bottom of the gilt frame gave his name and the date it was painted, but the face itself attracted her. Duncan Ross, she felt, must have been a’ very strong-minded character, judging by his portrait, and yet there was a hint of laughter in the fierce dark eyes if one looked deeply enough.
Against the soft blues and greens of the background he looked an arrogant man, and yet he must have had a streak of sentimentality, for according to what she had been told he had loved and lost, but felt so sentimental about his lost love that he had bequeathed his house and a substantial part of his wealth to her daughter, Catriona.
It struck her too that there was something elusively familiar about the strong features, and yet she could not put a finger on exactly what it was. Hearing a sound of movement downstairs, she hastily shook herself out of her daydream and started down the stairs once more.
More than likely Neil was already out on his morning round of the estate, delayed by the need to provide her with something to wear from Kirstie McKenzie’s wardrobe. He still followed the same routine even now that he was owner—Melodie could never imagine him delegating any of his usual tasks to others. He was much too concerned with the affairs of Ben Ross to leave the running of them to someone else, no matter how much work was involved.
As frequently happened when she became completely
lost in her thoughts, she was unaware of anything going on around her, and she started almost guiltily when a door opened across the hall and Jessie McKay came out of the room she remembered was the library. Melodie was subjected to a short critical scrutiny in the time it took the housekeeper to meet her half way across the hall, and a slight nod of her head seemed to suggest that the outfit met with her approval.
‘Kirstie McKenzie must have better taste than you gave her credit for,’ Melodic suggested, unable to resist commenting. ‘These things are very nice.’
‘Sunday clothes,’ Jessie decreed, casting her critical gaze once more over the borrowed garments. ‘I’ve seen the girl wear them in, the kirk.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Melodie smoothed her hands over the skirt, wondering if perhaps Neil had exerted his authority as laird to obtain the best for her, and hoping he hadn’t. ‘In that case I’d better take extra care with them.’
Jessie nodded, then glanced over her shoulder towards the room she had just left. `Mr McDowell’s in the library,’ she told her. ‘You’ll be wanting to have a word with him?’
Melodic tried to do something about the sudden and rapid increase in her pulse rate as she followed the older woman back across the hall. She had expected him to be out on the estate somewhere; instead he was waiting for her in the library and she found the knowledge more disturbing than she cared to admit.
She kept remembering that lean anxious face in her bedroom last night, bending over her and trying to shake her into wakefulness while she fought him as if his intention was something quite different; and then the comfort of those few moments when she had been
held close in his arms. There were all too many occasions when Neil McDowell had played havoc with her usual bland self-confidence, and it troubled her sometimes that it should be so.
Jessie merely opened the door for her, she did not come into the room, but there was a look in the shrewd brown eyes as she passed her that brought a flush of colour to her cheeks, and she hastily quelled any wild guesses as to the meaning behind it.
Neil was standing in exactly the same position as he had been the first time she ever saw him—before the huge fireplace, his feet slightly apart and with that slightly autocratic air of ownership about him. Only now, of course, he was the owner of Ben Ross, and she wondered what difference the fact was going to make to her own position in the present circumstances.
In riding clothes, as he most usually was, he wore a blue shirt that emphasised his tan and showed off muscular brown arms that were pulled back behind him by clasped hands. He came forward when he saw her, and the grey eyes scanned her face swiftly at the same time as he reached out a hand, instinctively, she thought, almost as if he thought she needed support.
‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, Neil.’
There was something curiously and disturbingly intimate about coming downstairs to greet a man in his own home, and once more she wondered at her increased sensitivity where he was concerned. The hard fingers closed about her arm for a second, but released her as soon as he realised she was in no need of support.
‘How are you feeling, Melodie?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ She scanned the lean shadowed face for a moment but avoided direct contact with the steady grey eyes, and she smiled. ‘And you? You took far too many risks last night, trying to recover my clothes.’
A careless hand dismissed any suggestion of risk involved, and he cast his eyes over the rather school-girlish outfit he had borrowed for her. ‘Your borrowed plumes fit you well enough, do they not?’
`Very well indeed,’ Melodie agreed. ‘But it was very good of Miss McKenzie to lend me her Sunday best—I must try and thank her for them myself.’
A glimmer of laughter touched his mouth for a moment and warmed the grey eyes. ‘Your thanks should go to the minister of the kirk—Kirstie’s usual tastes are rather flamboyant for churchgoing and the Reverend suggested something a little more demure might be more in keeping with the Sabbath. Kirstie complied, but she’d as soon see them go as anything else, even though she’s only loaned them.’
‘Oh, I see. Jessie did suggest that she was a bit ‘
A light shrug conveyed her meaning, and Neil nodded agreement. ‘She’ll likely grow out of it when she’s a wee bit older,’ he suggested.
‘I see—she’s not very old, then? I thought perhaps
Remembering her own speculation on the subject of Neil’s personal visit to ask the girl for a loan of some of her clothes, Melodie looked at him curiously. It was only when she saw his raised brow and the way he was regarding her so steadily with a hint of mockery in his eyes, that she realised at least something of what was going through her mind must have showed in that look, and she hastily glanced away.
‘You thought she was older?’ The soft-voiced inquiry
almost taunted her. ‘Old enough to interest me, mebbe?’
‘I’d no idea how old she was!’
She could not protest too forcibly, for he was too close to the truth for comfort and she feared he realised it. ‘Kirstie is sixteen,’ he informed her. ‘She’s time enough to change, though I doubt she will.’ He indicated an armchair and Melodie sat down in it rather hastily. The trouble was that he could now look down at her from an even greater height, and she already felt dismayingly small. ‘You’ve had breakfast, so Jessie tells me.’
‘Yes.’ She ventured a smile. ‘I was thoroughly spoiled and had breakfast in bed.’
‘Good—then as soon as I’ve changed out of these clothes we’ll drive in to Corrie and see about doing some shopping for you. You’ll be needing more than those bits and pieces of Kirstie’s.’ He took a hasty glance at his wristwatch and nodded. ‘We’re a wee bit late in starting, so we’ll have lunch in Corrie. Will that suit you?’ he asked, as if it had just occurred to him to consult her, and Melodie nodded vaguely.
He seemed to have everything so cut and dried that it struck her once more how out of character he was for the man she had been told about before she left Australia. Her friends had described him as rather shy and quiet and, while the latter might be true, she could find nothing shy about this rather forceful character.
‘You’re not a bit like Catriona described you ! ‘
She had spoken impulsively and without stopping to think what she was saying, and she saw the slight stiffness that pulled back his shoulders suddenly, and the lowe
ring of heavy-lashed eyelids so that the look in his eyes was hidden from her.
‘What in the name of heaven has the way I look to do with what I was talking to you about?’ he asked. His voice was as low and quiet as ever, but it hinted at coldness, and Melodie’s lower lip was drawn anxiously between her teeth before she replied.
`I’m sorry, Neil, I just—spoke what was in my mind, that’s all.’
‘Were you not listening to what I was saying, then?’
‘Yes, of course I was! ‘ His steady questioning look suggested she had better explain, and she hurried on, wondering if it would do any good to try. ‘I was just thinking that you were described to me as being quiet and ‘ She hesitated in case he should think shy was in some way a derogatory term, but with that steady grey gaze on her it was impossible to hesitate for very long. ‘I was led to understand that you were rather shy,’ she finished a little breathlessly.
In the brief glance she gave him she thought she saw his eyes narrow slightly. ‘Were you now?’
`But I didn’t mean that
‘Shy?’ He went on, as if she had not spoken, and there was a suggestion of mockery in his voice that made her uneasy. ‘Is that what they told you?’ A short and not altogether humourless laugh made her glance up again quickly. ‘Were you expecting some kind of overgrown schoolboy, Melodie?’
It was a most discomfiting conversation and Melodie wished fervently that she had never made that impulsive remark about his character. ‘No, of course I wasn’t! Just someone—different, that’s all.’
`No doubt!’ The grey eyes held her unrelentingly and she found herself unable to resist looking up at him again. ‘Well, maybe I was—shy, as you say, when Catriona saw me last, but I’m not the same man she
knew. A man can change a great deal in eight years, Melodic, and I’m no different from any other in that respect. I’m thirty-four years old now and a lot of things have happened to change me since Catriona’s time here.’ A hint of a smile just tipped one corner of his mouth and she found herself wanting to reach up and touch her fingertip to it. ‘Maybe I grew up.’
‘I know, Neil; I know what you mean.’
Her voice was soft, light and barely audible, but she thought she understood what he meant and she wanted to let him know she did. Neil, however, was shaking his head and that ghost of a smile was still on his mouth.
‘You know?’ From his voice and the way he looked it was obvious that he doubted it, and she felt a warm flush of colour in her cheeks. ‘How old are you, Melodie?’
The question took her by surprise, but it seemed somehow to suggest that he saw her as little older than Kirstie McKenzie and she resented that more fiercely than she would have believed possible. Her blue eyes sparkling indignantly, she looked up at him. ‘I don’t see that my age has anything to do with anything!’
If only she did not always react so emotionally to him. Even the timbre of his voice affected her, as he stood with his hands still clasped behind him looking down at her, and that hint of mockery in his smile was infinitely disturbing no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.
‘I just can’t help wondering how it is that a wee bit of a thing like you can always be claiming to understand me so well,’ he told her. ‘You’ve made the same claim before, though you’ve never explained it, have you, Melodic?’
It was the same discomfiting situation she had found
herself in once before with him, and she shifted uneasily in the big armchair. ‘It’s just that—I feel I do understand, Neil, that’s all.’
‘Or you’ve been told something that you think explains the man I am?’ Neil suggested quietly.
She got to her feet suddenly, because she no longer felt able to cope while she occupied that big chair and had Neil hovering over her, alarmingly like a bird of prey. Her hands were at her sides but rolled tightly so that she appeared taut and uneasy as she faced him.
‘I wish you weren’t always so suspicious of me,’ she complained, her voice not quite steady. ‘Please, Neill’
‘Please, Neil!’ He echoed her words, mockingly it seemed, but with something in his voice that made her shiver suddenly. Then he put a hand beneath her chin and looked down at her mouth for a moment or two before shaking his head slowly, as if something he sought an answer to was beyond him. ‘Och, you’ve a very appealing way with you, Melodie Came, and I suspect you’re better at getting your own way than most.’
‘I—I wasn’t trying to get my own way.’
‘No?’
Her heart was thudding hard and she felt as if her legs were about to give way under her, they trembled so much. The touch of his strong fingers on her soft skin was like a caress and she would have given much to have his mouth once more on hers, kissing her the way he had when they stood on the river bank with the storm venting its fury around them.
In fact she felt the need for his kiss with such intensity that it startled her, and she did her best to quell the disturbing and unfamiliar sensations he aroused in her. But he didn’t kiss her—instead he let her go,
slowly, his fingers sliding across her jaw almost reluctantly, and she felt strangely bereft when he stepped back a pace and stood looking down at her.
‘I believe I was once in love with Catriona.’ The quiet statement took her by surprise, and he must have seen the look in her eyes that questioned his apparent uncertainty, for he shook his head again slowly and there was a wry smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘I cannot even be sure of it after this long, but whatever the truth was or is, Melodie, I’m not still nursing a broken heart, if that’s what someone’s suggested—you’ve no need to feel sorry for me.’
‘Sorry for you?’ It had not even occurred to her that she felt sorry for him, even though she supposed it was true to some extent. ‘But, Neil, I didn’t
Was it not pity that prompted those soulful-eyed looks and the assurances that you—understood me?’ he asked, and it was impossible to tell from his voice how he took to the idea. ‘Did John Stirling suggest that a broken romance was the reason I chose to live in what he considers a white elephant of a house and give my whole time and attention to Ben Ross?’
Melodie tried to shake her head and deny it, but it was more or less what John had said, and it was difficult to deny it with that steady gaze on her. `Not—not really,’ she said in a small husky voice.
Once more a hand slid beneath her chin and raised her face to him, the grey eyes studying her for a second or two before he spoke. ‘You’re not a very good liar, Melodie, are you?’ Briefly his mouth brushed against hers; then he let her go once again and walked over to pick up a well worn briar pipe from an ashtray on the mantel, turning as he began to fill it with tobacco from
a jar. ‘We’d best away and get that shopping done,’ he said with stunning matter-of-factness. ‘I’ve heard shopping for women’s clothes can be a long job.’
‘Neil, I can’t !
Her voice was unsteady and she felt alarmingly lightheaded, as if everything was happening too fast for her to cope, yet still some part of her brain was functioning with sufficient clarity to remind her that she had no cheque book and no means of obtaining another at least until Monday morning. But Neil was looking at her narrowly, as if he suspected delaying tactics.
‘I haven’t any money and I haven’t a cheque book since last night,’ she reminded him. ‘I doubt if I’d be given credit in shops where they don’t know me.’
‘You think I haven’t thought of that?’ he asked, and there was a hint of exasperation in his voice that made her look down at her feet hastily.
‘I didn’t know,’ she confessed.
‘Keeping an eye on your well-being includes seeing that you’re not destitute when your things are lost through no fault of your own,’ he told her, ‘as well as seeing that you’ve a roof over your head and food to eat.’
‘Neil, you’re not responsible for me to that extent!’
‘Oh, indeed I am,’ Neil declared firmly. ‘I’ll not have it
said that I fell short in any way—not that I would whether I’d critics to say I did or not.’ The grey eyes warmed with a smile as he rammed tobacco firmly into the pipe. ‘I take my role seriously, you know.’
‘Neil, will you please stop acting as if I’m five years old! I—I appreciate all you’re doing for me and I’m very grateful, but I wish you wouldn’t talk as if you’re really responsible for my well-being.’
He said nothing for a second or two while he held a lighted match to the pipe and pulled it into life, then he looked down at her, his eyes narrowed behind the screen of blue smoke, and she felt herself shiver with some inexplicable sense of excitement.
‘Would you rather I let John Stirling take care of you?’ he asked. ‘He could take you to buy clothes and mebbe find room for you in the croft with his aunt and uncle—and himself, of course.’
‘You know I didn’t mean anything like that.’ She felt incredibly small and rather helpless as she stood there in Kits tie McKenzie’s Sunday best, and she was quite sure that if someone had to look after her she wanted it to be Neil. ‘I’m—I’m grateful for you doing what you are for me, and if you could let me have something to buy clothes, just until Monday when the bank’s open again.’ Something else occurred to her then too. ‘If I could have that little cottage across the yard for the rest of my stay, perhaps,’ she ventured. ‘I noticed it’s empty.’
‘Not for long,’ Neil told her blandly. ‘I’ve a new man starting next week and he and his wife will be moving into the groom’s cottage in a day or two. We’ve plenty of room in the house here for you.’
‘But
The grey eyes held hers steadily and there was a gleam of something in their depths that brought a flush of colour to her cheeks as he regarded her through the screen of smoke from the pipe. ‘Jessie will chaperone you,’ he said, ‘if that’s what troubles you.’
‘It isn’t! ‘
The retort was swift and instinctive, and Melodic felt her heart begin a hard and rapid pounding in her breast, when she thought of spending the next month under