He placed everything back into the vault as he had found it, then sat in the chair opposite Margaux to think. Mayhap Iain had another safe place somewhere in the house—perhaps in his apartment. For a moment, he toyed with looking in their hiding places from childhood, but it was whisky recipes he was seeking, he reflected, not a treasure chest.
He gazed over at his wife, and to his surprise, she was watching him. He smiled.
“Guid day.”
“Good day,” she whispered and blushed.
“Are you feeling ill?”
She shook her head. “I was tired,” she rasped.
“I am glad you rested, then. Would no one help you to your room?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I was alone. I was exploring, but only got this far. I’m sorry.”
“Doona be sorry. Everything I have is yours. No secrets. No forbidden rooms. Now, doona try to talk so much. Your voice needs to heal.”
She nodded, but was still embarrassed.
“Is something missing?” She indicated the vault he had been searching through.
“I can see I will need to fashion a writing case for you to keep with you.” He smiled and moved to sit on the stool next to her feet. “I am looking for my brother’s whisky journals. I was about to see if he kept them in our apartment. Would you like me to take you upstairs?”
She flushed again. Lord above, she was beautiful. He hadn’t meant it the way she was thinking. Would it be worse if he corrected himself? She was staring at him with those beautifully innocent eyes. The burns did not diminish her beauty in the least. She wasn’t answering him, and they were staring at each other. It dawned on him: she was waiting for him to give her paper.
“Now you are being a little minx. You could nod your head to that question.”
She looked coy and he laughed. He made the decision for her and scooped her into his arms. He rather liked holding her. He suspected this independent woman would never have allowed him this close were she not so severely hurt.
She leaned her head against him, and he decided it was one of the greatest feelings. His life had been happy, and Seamus and the girls looked up to him, but she was putting her trust in him as her husband. Even if they had no more than friendship in this marriage, he would cherish that gift.
Chapter 12
Gavin placed Margaux on a chair in their private sitting room.
“Any ideas for hiding places?” he asked. Lacking an alternative, ladylike gesture, she shrugged her shoulders in response as he scanned the room between their apartments. It was a room Margaux approved of. It was neither masculine nor feminine, decorated in cool tones of blue that were soothing. It was a room she could spend hours in, cosily reading or doing household accounts. It only wanted books.
She looked for a place a vault might be hiding, but there was nowhere obvious. She stood and went to the small writing desk, but no journals were hiding inside. There were miniatures of Iain’s children sitting atop the smooth mahogany surface, and she once again felt an intruder in a place where she did not belong. Would she ever feel rightfully Lady Craig?
She cast away her thoughts and continued to look about. There was a landscape above the mantel, but nothing hiding behind. Gavin had wandered into his room and Margaux hesitated at the threshold, debating if she should enter too. She stood and watched this relative stranger, and realized nothing was different about marriage thus far other than her name, but she wanted to know this man.
She could not imagine any other man of her acquaintance treating her with the kindness he had shown her, yet not treating her differently after the fire. She did not know how she would appear when she healed, but she could not imagine it would be beautiful. Perhaps he did only wish her to run his home and offered her the protection of his name in exchange. It was what they had agreed to, but it somehow left her feeling empty.
“I doona think they are here, either.”
He turned to look at her and smiled kindly when he caught her staring at him. “You look tired, lass.”
He walked toward her and tucked her arm in his and led her to a chair. She shook her head and began to pull the pen and paper out of the desk to write.
I am not tired. She underlined ‘not’ for emphasis.
He laughed. “Verra well, not tired. I am gonna look in some of our old hiding places. Would you care to join me?”
She began writing furiously.
Margaux will join you.
“Margaux, would you care to join me?” he asked gallantly.
She smiled and nodded her head.
He bent over and picked her up before she could think about standing on her own. Her face must have shown the shock. She wanted to write, but he was jostling her too much as they bounced up a staircase.
“I willna carry you for the rest of our lives, but we are going too far right now. I suggest you accustom yourself to it, or I will order you back to your bed despite your terms. Doctor’s orders overrule your husband’s.”
She wrinkled her face and pulled the skin where she had been burned. She let out a squeak. He looked at her, but seemed satisfied she was unharmed and kept going up a circular staircase. They must be going to one of the towers she had seen at the front of the house. He set her down before a door.
“Iain and I used to play here for hours,” he said fondly.
The door opened and the round room was littered with a collection of boyish items. He chuckled and picked up one of the hundreds of arrows that were scattered about the room. The ends of the arrows had been covered with a ball and fabric, likely to soften the blow of an errant shot.
He picked up a bow and some of the practice arrows and walked to one of the slitted windows. He removed the covering and took aim. She could not help but admire the strength with which he held the bow and pulled the string with ease. Margaux wondered what he was shooting towards and walked over to look. He turned and noticed her curiosity.
“Forgive me for becoming distracted. The old target is still there and I couldna resist,” he said with a smile.
She held out her uninjured hand for the bow.
“It will hurt your hand,” he protested.
She shrugged but took the bow. She had practiced for hours with her brother, Charles, when he was learning. She pulled back the bow and was afraid she would not be able to muster the strength, but her pride urged her on. The pain in her hand was excruciating, yet she made a credible shot before grimacing and dropping the bow.
Gavin whistled appreciation.
“Verra nice shot, milady.” He bowed. “When you are healed properly, you may challenge me. But as your doctor, I insist no more for now.”
She nodded. She did not wish to repeat the pain. They continued to survey the room, including Gavin removing a stone from the floor to reveal a hiding spot underneath. There was no more than a boys’ treasure-trove of rocks, sticks and a few toys. Gavin looked mildly amused and disappointed.
“I didna really expect them to be there, but I doona ken where else to look.”
She pulled the ink, paper and quill from her pockets and found a small table to write on.
Where did he distil the whisky?
“At one of the barns. I didna see anythin’ there.”
She frowned with disappointment.
“But I didna look verra hard. I assumed the books would be in the vault in his study.”
Try again? She wrote eagerly.
“Verra well. I suppose you wish to join me?”
She smiled sheepishly. She was scooped off her feet before she could nod.
Gavin did not carry her the entire way, but placed her next to him in the small one-horse gig he had called for earlier. It was the first time she had watched him handle the reins, and the first time she had gone beyond the front drive of the property. She had no idea what lay past the wooded park surrounding the house. They came upon the fell, and a breathtaking view of a valley covered in amber-coloured grains and hedgerows, surrounding the eastern side of the property a
s far as her eyes could see. The western edge sloped down into the loch and was dotted with grazing sheep. She remembered why she had chosen Scotland. She inhaled deeply with appreciation, causing her husband to glance at her.
She smiled and mouthed, “It is lovely.”
“Aye, that it is. Our property extends farther than we can see to the north and east. Your father’s property borders ours on the south, and the western border goes to the Firth.”
He urged the horse forward and they reached a large barn near the loch.
“Shall we?”
Gavin reached up and circled her waist with his large hands, and a simultaneous pulse of awareness and depression came over her. She could not deny the attraction she felt for this man who only wanted a lifelong partner. It could be much worse, she reminded herself.
They entered the multi-storeyed barn. Margaux could not recall ever having been in any such place. A strange smell scented the building—perhaps that of grain. There were giant casks and tubs with pipes and oars for stirring.
Margaux’s curiosity took hold and she attempted to stir one of the oars around a large tub of water. It was surprisingly difficult. She caught her husband watching her with amusement. She shrugged.
“I imagine when the barley is added, it will be nigh impossible for you to stir,” he challenged.
She pulled a mischievous face and mouthed, “We shall see.”
He laughed and she began searching for the mysterious journals. She found a small room at the back of the barn, and he followed her inside.
“They aren’t here either,” he said with great disappointment.
She tried to think. Did his brother do all of this work on his own? It seemed too much for one person. Would her husband not have asked the necessary people?
She gratefully sunk into a nearby chair and once again scribbled on her paper, thankful there was a pot of ink in which to dip her quill. Who helped him? Can you ask them?
Gavin looked at her blankly.
“I doona ken. I assumed he did everathin’ but I suppose Wallace might have some idea.”
She nodded her head, though she was inwardly shaking it. Men could be daft sometimes.
“I will ask him tomorrow. I think you have had enough adventure for today.”
She did not want to be done. She had not enjoyed a day more as long as she could remember. But she was tired.
“I will take you to rest before dinner.”
She gave him a mildly conciliatory look.
“You speak a thousand words without speaking, dear wife.”
She eyed him as if to say, Oh?
He laughed at her.
“And that was one of those comments I would have been better to keep to myself.”
Still chuckling, he pulled her into a side hug and kissed the top of her head—exactly as he would have done to a sister.
Catriona was enjoying her new-found importance. Mr. Saunders had allowed the girls to help him as he attended to the burns of the orphans, and Catriona especially had taken an interest in learning about herbs and their healing properties. She had taken it upon herself to search for the herbs that were not already grown by Lord Craig and prepare the salves. Some of the recipes she had been given by Lady Easton, who had, to an extent, studied medicine while living in America.
One recipe in particular had caught her eye, and she thought Lady Margaux might wish to try it. They had already been treating her burns with a salve and they were improving, but Lady Easton’s notes made it sound miraculous. Catriona hoped this would restore the porcelain skin that was still blistered and raw.
She searched high and low for the ingredients, including asking Mrs. Ennis to send to Glasgow for those she could not find, and had finally, hopefully, come close to the right mixture after trying for days. She sought out Lady Margaux and knocked on the door of her room.
“Good day, Lady Craig,” Catriona said as she made a curtsy.
“Good day,” Lady Margaux whispered back. She was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her hair. The maid was nowhere in sight.
“I have come to dress your wounds. I have a new salve I have prepared that I would like to try.”
Lady Margaux looked up at her sceptically.
“Do not worry. It is one of Lady Easton’s recipes, and Lord Craig said I may try it. Her notes made it sound miraculous.”
Lady Margaux’s face fell a little.
“Forgive me. I should not say such things. You are still very beautiful. I only thought how nice it would be for you not to have scars or pain.”
Lady Margaux reached up and brushed the side of Catriona’s face lovingly. She stood and walked over to the chaise lounge and motioned for Catriona to join her, wheezing with the simple exertion. She held out her wounded arm for the girl’s ministrations.
Catriona felt Lady Margaux cringe as she removed the bandages. It was hard to find anything that did not stick to the open skin. Mr. Saunders had told her to use very thick amounts of salve so it would not hurt. Lady Margaux would not look at the burns after that dreadful day her mother had screamed at her appearance. She had looked a fright, to be sure, but she was still one of the most beautiful people Catriona had ever seen. She admired Lady Margaux’s courage in acting as though nothing was different about her.
The only strange thing Catriona had found was Lady Margaux preferred her to dress her wounds instead of Lord Craig. Catriona didn’t mind. She was flattered, actually. Lady Margaux’s maid would scarcely look at her, so Catriona had been helping her dress and style her hair when she asked. Maili loved to brush her long ebony hair until it shone like silk. Lady Margaux did not seem to be affected by Maili’s exuberance.
When Catriona had the dressings removed, she took the water basin and began to wash the dead skin away with a cloth, as she had been told. Lady Margaux winced a few times, but was strong as always. Catriona was about to burst with excitement at trying the new salve. Lady Margaux was sniffing at the new mixture.
“What is it?” she rasped.
“Mostly honey, wormwood, marshmallow root, comfrey root, white oak bark, lobelia, and a strange plant Lord Craig grows in the conservatory called aloe vera. He said Lady Easton gave him the plant, which she brought back from America.”
Lady Margaux shrugged. Catriona applied a thick layer of the cream and Lady Margaux let out a sigh.
“Does it feel nice?”
Lady Margaux nodded. “It doesn’t sting.”
Catriona was pleased. The new salve already showed promise, but would it keep Lady Margaux from scarring?
She tenderly covered the burns on Lady Margaux’s neck and cheek and then re-bandaged them with cloths.
“Shall I help you dress for dinner?”
Lady Margaux shook her head and touched her arm.
“Thank you.”
Catriona smiled and went on her way to mix some more of the salve.
Margaux watched Catriona close the door, then wept with hopelessness and acceptance. She had dared to look at the burns for the first time since the episode with her mother. They did not look better. The skin did not hurt as much as it had and was no longer raw, but it was tight, puckering and itched horribly. Her face appeared to have escaped the worst. She must have instinctively held up her hands to protect it. But her neck and hand would never look as they had. There was a scar in the centre of her neck from the tube, and half of it also looked like the skinned animal carcasses she had seen hanging in front of butchers’ shops. She couldn’t abide looking at it. She couldn’t blame people for not wanting to look at her either.
She struggled inwardly. She knew with all of her heart that outward appearance was not what mattered, but no longer having flawless beauty, she had to fight her desire to cower away and hide. She knew she had to keep facing the world to convince herself she mattered.
Her husband treated her the same as he had before. Was that all she was ever to know? She had hoped before the fire that there might, one day, be affection between them. S
he could not blame him. His heart had not been attached, and he seemed to be merrily attending to business as usual. She needed to do the same. It was what she had asked for, after all, but somehow she wanted more and had no right to expect it.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Gavin found Wallace sorting through piles of correspondence.
“Guid morning, Wallace. I didna expect to see you here so early.”
“That arnica tea you recommended has made me bones feel better. Ye might have me for a few more years yet, lad.”
“You can stay as long as you wish, Wallace. Say, would you happen to ken where Iain’s journals were kept? I canna find them anywhere.”
“Aye. A few months before the accident, there was a fire in the barn, so he moved them to the dungeon where yer da used to work. The old still is down there, and he would try new things out before making a grand batch.”
Gavin sighed audibly. “I didna ken there was a fire in the barn. I shoulda thought of the dungeon. Thank you, Wallace.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Gavin began to hurry down to the old dungeon stairs, but thought better of it and returned back up to get Margaux. He smiled when he thought of her interest in helping him. She was likely bored to tears, and this was something small he could do for her. He knocked, but did not hear a response. Of course. She couldn’t talk loud enough yet. He cracked open the door and her beautiful eyes stared back at him with amusement.
“Guid morning, lass,” he said more huskily than was seemly. He needed to control his reaction to her, but the more time he spent with her, the more he feared he was losing that battle. She opened the door to let him in somewhat shyly, and he saw that her hair had not been dressed and half of the buttons on the back of her gown were open.
“Where is your maid, lass?”
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