by Aubrey Wynne
*
Mid-May 1819
Lachlan stretched out on the blanket, his weight propped on one elbow. Fenella sat beside him, trying to sketch one of the flowering bushes in her grandmother’s garden. The sky was cloudy with a light breeze that ruffled his kilt and bared his knee. When he looked up, he caught Fenella staring at his bare leg instead of the flowers.
“Let me see what ye’ve done?”
She blushed. “I’m terrible. Evie is the artist.”
He craned his neck to see her pad and guffawed. “Yer no’ being modest, to be sure.”
Fenella pushed his shoulder, knocking him off balance. He reached up to pull her down on top of him when approaching voices reminded him they weren’t alone.
Mrs. Douglas emerged from the house, and Colin and Rose returned from a walk. Lachlan sat up, adjusted his kilt, and made an appreciative sound when the older woman set down a plate with sweet meats. MacGregor followed her with a tray of lemonade. The two younger couples accepted refreshments on the blanket while the older pair settled on the bench.
“So, Fenella mentioned your grandfather is head of your clan,” Mrs. Douglas said in a conversational tone.
“The MacNaughton is a fine man, well-respected,” said Colin.
“Is it an inherited title like the English?” asked Rose.
“Nay, though sons often assume the position. The chief puts forward his choice, but the clan doesna have to agree, though that rarely happens.” This subject made him uneasy, reminding him of the reason for his respite in Glasgow.
“So, one of your uncles will succeed him?” Fenella sipped at the lemonade, her wet lips holding his attention.
“Nay, me or one of my brothers must follow him when the time comes,” answered Lachlan.
“Did he no’ have any sons?” Mrs. Douglas shook her head. “That must have been disappointing.”
“Grandda says his two bonnie daughters gave him three lads, and he was content to wait. Besides, what more could ye ask for?” Lachlan spread out his hands, indicating himself.
Her grandmother laughed. “A little humility?”
“Acknowledged,” he agreed with a nod.
“But not heeded,” added Colin.
With a smack of his lips, Lachlan rose and set his cup on the tray. He held his hand out to Fenella. “Walk with me?”
She took his fingers without hesitation, and they strolled around the small perimeter.
“Ye’ve no’ told me much of yer family.” He didn’t want to cause her distress by bringing up her deceased father. Yet, he wanted to know more about her and where she came from. “Tell me of yer sister and mother.”
“Evelina is two years my junior and a complete opposite. She’s petite, darker than me, and vivacious. People are naturally drawn to her. Evie is also my dearest friend.” She sighed. “My mother, on the other hand, is always hoping to improve her position in society. Her dream is that one of us marries a titled gentleman.”
“A wealthy husband?” He wondered about the women’s financial situation.
“Oh, no. My grandfather had a wholesale company, and my father was able to expand the business. He became quite successful at acquiring scarce items for the haute ton during the war,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Mother hopes to find one of us a penniless nobleman who needs a generous dowry.”
It surprised Lachlan that Mr. Franklin had left the family well off. He’d assumed Fenella was companion to her grandmother out of necessity rather than choice.
“I’m quite a disappointment for my mother. I do not seem to blend well within the circles she’s so anxious to join.” She continued with forced cheerfulness. “So, here I am with Grandmama, while Evie attempts to fulfill my mother’s ambition.”
He stopped, facing her. “I’m sorry,” he said, brushing his knuckles along her jaw.
She turned her head away and shrugged. “If my sister is successful, there will be less pressure on me. I have no doubt that Evie will find love and a title. Then I will be free to live my own life.”
Lachlan held her close, kissing the crown of her head. “Yer mother’s wrong, ye ken. Ye’re perfect just as ye are. Dinna ever forget it.”
*
Lachlan glanced at Colin as they sat in their own drawing room that evening. He swirled the golden scotch and threw back the last swallow. “More?” he asked his cousin.
The dark head nodded but continued to stare at the glowing peat. Lachlan took his glass, walked to the sideboard, and poured them both another drink. He handed it to Colin and sat down again, his elbows on his knees, the glass between both hands.
Fenella filled his senses, and not just tonight. She slipped into his dreams, all soft and pliant, that lithe body beckoning and teasing. Her gray eyes haunted him with their combination of purity and desire. Never had a woman infected his brain this way. She was close to becoming an obsession. How had it happened in so short a time? He could either feed the fire or put it out completely. The latter thought left his soul cold.
“So Fenella doesna ken ye will be the next chief?” asked Colin. “That was a wee evasive, considering how determined Calum is on the subject. One of us, ye said, as if it could be any three of the brothers.”
“It hasna come up in conversation until tonight.”
Colin grunted and folded his arms across his chest, staring into the burning coals. The clock on the mantel ticked. A night watchman called out.
“Twelve o’clock and clear skies.”
“Seems we have a dilemma,” Lachlan said to his silent companion. “We had an afternoon filled with good food, good conversation, and bonnie lasses. Yet, here ye sit with a frown on yer face.”
Colin rubbed the back of his neck, the glow of the fire glinting on the silver that brushed his temples. “She scares the hell out of me.”
“Rose? She’s a beauty and a lovely voice, for sure. Didna strike me as the forward type, so why would she scare ye?”
“Because a woman hasna affected me like this since…” He tossed back the whisky and scowled at the embers.
“Ah, I see.” Lachlan leaned back and studied his cousin. “So, I assume ye willna be joining me next Sunday?” He was rewarded with a glare and a grunt. “Is that an aye or a nay?”
“Of course I’m going. I’ve got to make sure ye remain a gentleman with our accountant.”
Lachlan chuckled. “Of course.”
Silence again as they both studied the burning peat.
“I’m of a mind to ken more of the lass. See what comes of it,” Colin admitted in a gruff tone.
“Weel, ye’ll need to adjust yer present attitude or she’ll be running for the border.” He kicked at his cousin’s chair. “Smile, mon, this is a fine thing. Ye’ve been alone too long.”
“For the love of Mary, ye’ll have me handfasted by week’s end. I only said—”
“Ye’re too defensive, Colin, for a mon who’s no’ interested.”
“And what of yer feelings for Fenella? Dinna tell me she’s just another barmaid.”
“No, she’s no’ and I’m having a hard time keeping my hands to myself.” He took another sip, appreciating the mellow burn of the liquid as it made its way down his throat. Their sweet, brief kiss had been barely a taste, a teasing morsel. It had left him hungry for more. “But I canna scare her away. She has affection for me, I think, but she’s an innocent. I’ll take it slow.”
“So ye truly want to court her?”
“Truly.”
“My da always told me that when it comes to love, ye either surrender or suffer.” Colin shoulders slumped slightly, his body relaxing as they talked. He took in a deep breath. “I’m no’ the suffering type, I’ve decided. Ye’re right, it’s been long enough, and if a woman can set my blood boiling like Rose did today… weel, I may as well surrender to it and see where fate leads me.”
“Wise man,” agreed Lachlan.
“And what shall ye do about yer own predicament?”
“As my ma always says,
when ye want something, go fetch it yerself. If ye wait too long, there’s a chance it will lose its way. I canna let Miss Fenella Franklin stumble across another path.”
Chapter Thirteen
The Clarity of a Kiss
June 1819
Lachlan strode into the office, whistling a jaunty tune. Fenella looked up, a smile on her face that reflected in her welcoming eyes. “Did I thank ye for an excellent time yesterday?”
“Several times.” She laughed. “Grandmama sent you and Colin some scones in appreciation. I don’t think she’s been so happy since my grandfather died.”
“And what about her granddaughter?”
“I think I’m becoming quite fond of… Glasgow,” she said with an impish grin.
“Happy to hear it.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll be back later for that scone.”
As he took the stairs, he could hear the faint sound of humming. His heart tightened a bit at the sound, knowing it echoed her pleasure. He’d been surprised that making a woman glad could bring him such joy. But as his regard for her grew, Lachlan’s self-control waned. He wanted to kiss the woman. Kiss her senseless. He hardened at the thought. Sweet Mary, how she affected him.
He and Colin now looked forward to Sundays for the company rather than a time to rest and drink. If the sky was clear, they rode out to the country or went to the Green. Dinner would be served at Mrs. Douglas’s house. If rain kept them inside, an afternoon of music or games occupied them. Yesterday, they had picnicked along the Clyde outside of town. Rose and Colin had wandered away from the group and caught a few fish, returning in time for several songs. MacGregor had warmed up to the MacNaughtons and brought along his fiddle.
This week, Lachlan wanted to take an afternoon off and spend an hour alone with Fenella. Time seemed to slip away, and soon July—and Ian—would arrive. Never had he been reluctant to return home. He missed his family and longed for his canine companion, Brownie. But to leave Fenella left an emptiness in his gut. He needed to hear her say she would miss him; she would be waiting for him when he returned in August.
And a few well-planned kisses wouldn’t hurt his cause. A smile curled his lips.
“What?” demanded Colin. “I dinna like that smile.”
“Do I care what ye like?”
“Ah, ye’re thinking of Fenella.”
Lachlan scowled. “Such a wizard, my cousin. Thinks he can read my mind.”
“Och, the last place I’d want to be is in yer head.” Colin grabbed him around the neck and rubbed the top of his head. “Probably full of porridge or pickled by good scotch.”
“It’s the cheap whiskey that pickles the brain, not the good stuff.” Lachlan shrugged. “But ye’re right, she’s on my mind.”
“Have ye told her how ye feel?”
He shook his head. “I’m thinking of taking her to the Green one day this week. Maybe quitting a wee early on Wednesday. I want to let her ken my intentions of serious courting when I return in August.”
Colin nodded. “I figured as much. I’d wager ye need no’ worry on that account, though. She’s just as taken with ye, according to Rose. Her eyes follow ye like a cat on a mouse.”
Lachlan grinned. “That puts a bonnie picture in my head.”
The remainder of the morning was spent unloading cargo and haggling with an old client. He got a better price for an incoming load of flax. There had been a frost in May, ruining some of the crop. The growers were anticipating higher prices when they harvested next month. Lachlan had bargained for a more reasonable increase with guarantees of larger purchases the following year. His stomach growled, letting him know it was time to meet Fenella.
He took the steps two at a time. With a tug on his waistcoat and a quick swipe through his hair, he cleared his throat and knocked at the open door. She glanced up, her face brightening. Her pale golden hair was pulled into the usual tight chignon, and her work dress hid the graceful slender curves he’d glimpsed through the thin muslin on Sundays.
“It must be time to eat. I swear I just got here.” Fenella closed the ledger and reached for her satchel. She pulled out a lump of brown paper, unwrapped it, and pulled out the rounded baked pies filled with ground mutton and spices.
Lachlan scooted a chair next to her, as was his habit these days, and accepted the hand pasty. They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. After he popped the last bite in his mouth, he sat back and studied her.
“Why are you staring? Do I have something on my lip?” she asked, brushing her fingers along her mouth.
With a silent groan, Lachlan shook his head. “I was wondering if ye’d like to go to the Green after ye’re finished on Wednesday. Just us.”
She paused, a cup halfway to her mouth. “What about Malcolm?”
He leaned forward. “Just us. I’ll still have ye back within the prescribed hour—or so,” he added with a grin. “I need to speak with ye, and I’d like to do so in private.”
Fenella swallowed. He could see the pulse quicken in the hollow of her throat. The spot he’d wanted to kiss for the last month. Jesu! Being a gentleman was killing him. She bent her head and studied the crumbs of meat pie on the brown butcher paper.
“Did I say something to cause ye worry?” She reminded him of a frightened rabbit. He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “I would enjoy some time with ye, outside of the mill and without the others adding to our conversation.”
Her clear gray eyes met his. He could feel her quickened breath against his palm. “Would that be all right?”
She nodded. Sweet Jesu! He could kiss her now, suck on that bottom lip and dip his tongue into the sweetness inside. Taking a deep breath, he removed his hand and stood. He needed air.
“It’s settled, then. Malcolm will come along today, but Wednesday ye’re all mine for an hour.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room before his manners fled and his desire took over.
*
On Wednesday, Lachlan surprised Fenella by ordering his horse and another dappled mare with a side saddle instead of the wagon. He cupped his hands and gave her a foot up, watching as she wrapped one long limb over the pummel and settled the other beneath. He’d judged her serviceable dress to be as wide as the riding habits he’d seen the genteel ladies wear and was relieved she easily arranged the skirt around her ankles. Her grin was contagious as they both trotted through the traffic, enjoying the afternoon sun.
“Charlie needed some exercise, and ye said ye enjoyed riding,” he explained, patting the horse’s neck. “I’m hoping this wasna presumptuous on my part.”
“It’s wonderful. Can we canter when we reach the Green?”
“I’m no’ opposed to it. Racing, however, is frowned upon.”
“I just want to feel the wind on my face. I miss galloping over an open field.” She maneuvered her mount around a lumbering cart, and Lachlan watched her backside appreciatively. “Did I tell you I had another letter from Evie?”
“Good news, I hope?”
She nodded. “It seems an earl is quite taken with her. If I know my sister, the feeling is mutual.”
Her smile told him she was pleased. He recalled their conversation about her mother. If her sister married this man, Fenella would be free to stay in Glasgow. And more amenable to the conversation he was about to have with her.
Once they were away from the crowd and reached an open section of the park, they let the horses have their head. He heard a squeal of pleasure as they climbed a slight incline and slowed the animals to a walk, stopping at a cluster of trees.
“Oh, thank you, Lachlan. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this.” Fenella held her hand against her heaving chest as she caught her breath, cradling her neck.
He dismounted and regarded her as she slid off her mare, her boots slapping the grass with a soft thud. She arranged her skirt and followed him to a tree where he looped both lead ropes on a low-hanging branch.
“I’ve brought a blanket to sit on while w
e talk,” he said as he untied the tartan from behind the saddle. “There’s a nice view of the Clyde over here.”
They sat down and quietly watched the traffic on the river for a few moments. Her cheeks were pink from exertion, and her hair had been teased by the wind. He reached up to smooth a rebellious lock.
“Oh, my hair must be in shambles.” Fenella’s hands went to the ribbons of her bonnet and she took it off, trying to return order to the straying curls. Giving up, she gave him an apologetic smile. “Do you mind if I take just a moment to fix this?”
He watched her slender fingers tug out the pins, scoop the sun-bleached waves into one hand, and twist it into a loose chignon. She deftly jabbed the pins back in and pulled a few tresses over her ears.
“There. Not perfect but better than it was.”
Lachlan leaned back on an elbow, reached up, and rubbed a silky strand between his fingers. “Ye’re lovely either way.” His knuckles dragged along her cheek as he withdrew his hand.
She blushed and focused on the river. “When do you leave?”
“Ian should be returning within the next week or two.” Heat flooded his veins, drumming down his body, low and steady. Sweet Jesu, he thought again, how he wanted her.
“When will you return?” she asked softly, still not looking at him.
“Early August.” He sat up, worry niggling at his gut. “Fenella, will ye look at me?”
Slowly, she turned those shimmering, silver pools on him. “So, what happens now?” she asked in a soft voice.
He saw pain in her eyes. She’d reverted back to an uncertain, hesitant girl again. His first instinct was to pull her against him, stroke her back, and tell her all would be well. Did she think he was saying goodbye? “Fenella, our time together has been—”
“Perfect,” she whispered.
“Aye, perfect. But I’m afraid when I leave ye”—he cupped her chin so she had to face him—“I’ll be thinking of ye, wondering what occupies yer time.”
Her eyes sought his, searching.
“Or who will occupy yer time.”