by Aubrey Wynne
“Och, my widow uses me for the same reason. I’m never dishonest about my intentions.” He didn’t add that those dalliances had ceased since he’d met a certain willowy blonde.
“Ian mentioned some vagabonds stirring unrest in the factories. Said ye gave one a Glasgow Kiss that laid ye up for a week.” He let out a howl that stirred Brownie from the tall grass to add her voice.
“See what ye’ve done now? And it wasna a week, only a few days. I’d have been back sooner if Sorcha would have allowed it.”
“I’d no’ cross Sorcha once she’s put her foot down.”
The men were silent for a while. Lachlan let the view before him soothe his soul. Below them, a meadow stretched down to a loch, the purple buds of heather bending in the wind toward the sparkling water. In the distance, mountain tops jutted like zigzags against the clear blue of the sky, and clumps of tall Scottish pine dotted the hillside. An eagle soared and cawed, its outline emphasized against the puffy clouds floating above them. He wanted to show this country to Fenella, hoped it would fill her with the same kind of peace.
“So did ye decide to give Brigid the mare?” he asked.
“She didna poison us, though it was close a few times.” Brodie chuckled. “I’m a mon of my word, and she kept to the bargain. I also didna see her the least upset when Enid barred her from the kitchen after the week was up.”
“Another clever woman,” agreed Lachlan.
“Enid?” asked Brodie.
“Nay, our sister.”
Chapter Sixteen
A Heated Homecoming
Early August
Glasgow, Scotland
It was a braw day, Lachlan decided as Charlie carried him up the next hill, Brownie loping beside him. They’d made an early start and dawn was almost upon them. An orange and yellow glow just emerging over the mountain peaks. The air was crisp, and he drew in a lungful, smelling the dewy heather and pungent pine.
“I hope Fenella is fond of dogs.” It made him realize how many things he still didn’t know about her. “We’ll soon find out,” he told the hound that wagged a shaggy tail in response.
They reached Glasgow just as the town was waking. Sunshine slowly burned off the early morning fog, the sheen on the cobbled lanes dissipating. A few motivated peddlers emerged onto the streets, their carts laden with fresh bread, salted fish, or fruits and vegetables. A coal wagon passed them by, the horse hooves echoing against the brick and wood structures on each side.
Lachlan stopped in front of the three-story townhouse and dismounted. He gave the chestnut a pat on the neck and dug some oats from his sporran. Letting the gelding eat from his hand, he chuckled at the soft lips rubbing against his palm. He looped the reins through the hitching post, so Charlie would remain at a stand, then strode past the wrought-iron gates and up the stone steps that ran between two large Grecian style columns. Flinging the door open, he startled a groggy-eyed footman.
“Good morning, sir,” the Englishman muttered, then backed away at the sight of the brownish-gray beast.
Brownie sniffed at the man’s waistcoat, her head easily passing his hips. Woof!
The footman jumped and backed up one step toward the first floor.
“Sàmhach!” Lachlan ordered the hound. “She’s just saying hello, Alfred, but I would suggest ye give her a bite or two of sausage to keep her friendly.” He ascended the stairs two at a time, the dog on his heels. “My horse is outside and needs tending. He’s hungry too.”
He peeked into the dining room, found it empty, and yelled down the stairs. “And coffee, if ye wouldna mind.” Then he took the next flight and flung open Ian’s bedroom door.
His brother stood with a straight-edge razor paused in midair as he peered at Lachlan in the mirror. “Ye do like to make an entrance. I almost cut my throat.”
“I’m as hungry as a bear after a long winter.” He pulled a small leather pouch from his plaid belt. “I have letters.”
Ian’s blue eyes lightened, his face relaxing. “Now that’s worth all the hullabaloo.” He turned back and finished his morning ritual. “Ye look as if ye need a shave and good washing yerself.”
“I will soon enough.” He plunked onto the bed. “Colin here?”
“Where else would he be at this hour?”
The deerhound padded into the room. She sniffed at Ian’s silk banyan then dropped her nose to his bare feet and began licking his toes.
“What the devil—” Ian jumped to the side, looked down at the smiling canine with a loud sigh. “I see ye brought yer favorite female with ye.”
“Aye, I want her to meet Fenella.” Lachlan leaned back and folded his hands behind his head. “Have ye seen her much? Does she miss me?”
“We dinna talk about ye. Our conversations are kept to much more intelligent subjects.” His grin faded. “Teasing aside, Brother, what are ye intentions? Remember what Grandda always says.”
“No dallying with the help unless ye’re ready for leg shackles,” they said in unison.
“I plan to find out if a betrothal is in our future. She’s agreed to court me.” Lachlan sat up. “She’s special, Ian. But I’ve no experience with this kind of love, so I need to be sure of what I’m feeling.”
“Ye’re no’ as numpty-headed as ye look.” Ian wiped his face off. “Glad to hear it. I wish ye luck.”
“What do ye think of her?” Lachlan knew he shouldn’t care, but it mattered if his family approved of his choice.
“I like her. She’s clever, has common sense except when it comes to ye, and will give ye bonnie children.” He dropped his banyan to the floor and pulled on a clean shirt. “Now, if ye dinna mind, I’ll finish my morning ablutions in peace.”
*
Lachlan propped his shoulders against the wall next to the office. One foot leaned against the panels, his knee just visible beneath his kilt, the other planted firmly against the planks. The unfamiliar scratch of doubt suddenly plagued him. His heart contracted and his hand flew to his chest. He’d never experienced romantic rejection before; he’d never been in love. Sweet Mary! If this was what a man went through when a woman spoke to his heart, how the devil did Brodie go through it so often?
Footsteps sounded below, then Fenella’s bonnet peeked over the railing. She stopped on the landing and untied the ribbons, the ever-present satchel dangling from her elbow. The morning sun framed her outline against the dusty window. Her hair shone almost white and the deep green of her dress was mirrored in her light eyes, silver and flecks of pine. Then she saw him and smiled. A radiant smile that sent heat crashing through him. The uncertainty disappeared, his body relaxed, and the habitual thrumming started in his core.
“Good morning,” he said with a wink. He loved the blush that followed and wanted to feather her cheek with kisses.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
Her chest rose and fell, drawing his eyes to her cleavage. With skirt in hand, Fenella made her way to him with eyes focused on each step. Lachlan met her at the top, pulling her to him before she had time to raise her head. She gasped at the sudden movement but leaned into him, her slight, soft curves molding into his hard body, sending the throbbing under his kilt into a frenzy. His grin turned into a half grimace. Her mouth was parted, a slight tremble that said his desire was returned.
That alone made his heart sing, his chest swell.
“I missed you,” he growled, tipping her chin before covering her mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue stroked the velvety lips, and she parted for him, allowing him to sweep inside, the remnants of tea and honey coating his tongue. His hands slid down her back, over the spine beneath the serviceable cloth, then up her waist to cup the sides of her breasts. Her hands clutched at his linen shirt, and the quick intake of breath indicated her surprise. But her hands crept to his neck, and she pushed her hips against him. One finger stroked his stubbled cheek, and he groaned into her mouth. With great reluctance, he broke off the kiss but could not push her away.
“Ah, m
y golden angel,” he murmured into her neck. The scent of honeysuckle enveloped him.
“I’ve missed you so,” she breathed against his ear. “I was sure August would never come.”
He leaned back, realizing the doubt had dissipated with her closeness. “I wish I could pack ye in my saddlebags the next trip. However, I’m here now.” His arm lingered around her waist as they walked to the office. The hell with propriety. They were alone, and it had been weeks.
A throat cleared noisily behind them. Hell and damnation!
Colin leaned against the doorway, ankles crossed. “I’d say ‘welcome home’ but it seems ye’ve already received a better reception than I could manage. And next time, dear cousin, dinna forget yer bloody beast. She woke me up from a lovely dream with her nappy tongue.”
Fenella spun around. “Oh, Colin! Good… morning. I didn’t hear you.” Pink stained her cheeks and swollen lips. She looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly kissed. Lachlan intended to keep her that way.
“Do ye need something in particular, mon, or do ye just like watching?”
He chuckled. “I need ye at the dock. There’s a new supplier to deal with, and I thought ye’d like to start the day with a wee negotiation for the next shipment.”
“Did we pay too much for this one?” Excitement dripped into his veins at the thought of a bout of haggling.
“In my opinion,” agreed Colin.
Lachlan rubbed his hands together and gave Fenella a loud smack on the mouth. “Save me a biscuit, lass. I’ll see ye in a few hours.”
*
Fenella stood for several moments with her fingers tracing her swollen lips. He was like a tempest, whirling in and out of her life, setting her heart pounding and her hope soaring. She sighed and dropped the straw bonnet on the desk. Sinking onto the chair, she allowed her pulse to slow. Her grandmother’s words came back to her. Lass, ye need to be honest with him. She just needed to find the right time.
After a long morning of attempted concentration, Fenella gave up and opened her satchel. The crinkle of wrapping paper seemed to attract these clansmen like bees to honey. She barely had time to set out the dried haddock, brown bread, and cheese before Lachlan appeared. He stood with both hands leaning against the top of door frame, his weight on one leg, his opposite bare knee bent forward, showing beneath his kilt. His tan waistcoat had been discarded, the ties of his shirt undone, and a triangle of wiry dark curls sprang from the opening. As he rocked against the overhead jamb, thick chestnut waves, combed back to frame his strong jaw and full mouth, brushed against the white neckline. Her eyes dipped to his arms, muscles flexing and straining at the soft material. His sapphire eyes pinned her gaze as she licked her lips. He grinned at her, and she stifled a laugh, knowing he must realize how incredibly masculine he appeared. And he wanted her. Fenella Franklin. She pinched herself under the desk.
“Move out of the way, ye hulking sow,” groused Colin from the hall. “Do ye think ye’re the only one she feeds?”
Lachlan pivoted on one heel, surprise on his face at the arrival of his brother and cousin.
“Dinna look so shocked,” Ian chided. “She likes us, too.”
They pushed past Lachlan and took the two chairs across from Fenella. With her brows raised in question at Lachlan, she held up a chunk of fish and set it on a piece of the wrapping paper beside her. Then she doled out portions to Ian and Colin.
“The most kind and gracious Mrs. Douglas sends dinner for us when Fenella works. It’s like a wee taste of home,” Colin said, chewing a mouthful of cheese as he cocked his head at her. “Ye’ll have to share with this bonnie lass if ye’re hungry. I’m no’ a generous man as ye well ken.”
Ian took a bite of the haddock and smacked his lips. “Get the cups, Colin.” He pulled a leather bottle of small ale latched to his belt.
“My hands are greasy. Lachlan, get the cups.”
Fenella pressed her lips together, hiding the smirk. His dismay at the intrusion, and the command, was apparent. He grabbed the three tin cups from a shelf and plunked them on the worn desktop.
“Why don’t you pull a chair next to me, and Ian will pour you a drink,” she said in a honeyed tone. “Try this haddock. It’s delicious.”
His gaze jerked to her, and his scowl disappeared. Lachlan’s cheerful disposition couldn’t be held back for long. It was one of the things she loved about him.
Fenella caught her breath. She loved this man. How had it happened in such a short interval of time?
The MacNaughtons discussed business and news from home. Names she didn’t recognize but hoped she would in time. The three men took up the bulk of the space around her, their bodies filling the chairs, their personalities bouncing against each other. Yet she felt safe rather than stifled. How could she leave this newly adopted family? These Scots, her grandmother and Rose, and this vibrant city were all so dear to her now.
“Colin, we think we’ve got a candidate for manager,” Lachlan began with a pointed look at Ian. “Grandda—”
“And I wasna consulted? Ye ken I have a better—”
“Stop interrupting,” Lachlan half-shouted. “Ye’re the eejit we want in charge.”
Colin froze, a finger pointed at Lachlan, his mouth open. He gawked at Ian, who nodded in confirmation.
They’d caught the man off-guard. Fenella’s throat swelled as the emotions flittered across his face, and her heart went out to him as she came to his rescue. “What a perfect solution. I’m surprised you didn’t come up with it before.”
The giant lowered his finger and found his voice. “What about having the overseer being a neutral party or English? The old earl demanded it.”
“We’re the next generation to run the mill. Gideon kens ye and trusts ye as we do. I canna think of a better man to look after our clan here.” Ian gripped his cousin’s shoulder. “Will ye be our second-in-command?”
He nodded, pride showing in the straightening of his shoulders and lift of his chin. “I’d be honored to assist the clan in any way I can,” he accepted in a rough voice.
Lachlan raised his cup. “To Colin, the new manager.”
Ian raised his. “To the success of MacNaughton Textile.”
The clanking of tin, a splash of ale atop the desk, and then slaps of congratulations filled the room. Fenella leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, with a grin she couldn’t wipe off her face. Oh, how she loved this clan.
*
At three o’clock, the most attractive Scot in Glasgow waited at the door to take her home. Malcolm stood next to the same chestnut horse, a wool cap pulled over his unruly red curls. “We’ve missed ye, Miss Franklin,” he said with a slight bow.
“Why thank you, Malcolm. I’ve missed the escort home.”
Lachlan gave her a questioning look as he handed her onto the seat, Sorcha’s cushion once again in place. “MacGregor insisted on fetching me while you were gone. He said he had nothing better to do.”
With a laugh, he walked around to the other side and climbed up next to her. As Malcolm scrambled into the wagon bed, Lachlan leaned over and whispered, “Ye smell like honeysuckle, lass. Did ye have any dreams while I was gone?” He brushed his lips against her cheek, then cracked the reins, and the wagon lurched forward.
Fenella clutched the wagon seat with both hands and turned her head, a coquettish expression on her face. She hoped. She’d been practicing in the mirror after listening carefully to Rose’s instructions. When he chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows, she knew she’d done well. Oh, how Evie would love to see her elder sister flirting with a man. Flirting successfully with a handsome man, who didn’t give a fig about her dowry. A stray lock had fallen over Lachlan’s forehead, and she impulsively reached out and pushed it aside. The warmth of his skin tingled against her fingertip, and she withdrew her hand. He snatched it and placed a kiss on her palm. The sweetly sensual act washed over her; wings fluttered in her stomach.
“Ian will leave for Manchester in two days. He wants to
purchase some new power looms that should improve production.” He paused. “Colin insists he should go with him. Says he’s the one who’ll be repairing the machines.”
“That’s true.”
“I argued I would get a better price, but he’s adamant. I think he’s worried about Ian going to hear some radical speaker who’s lecturing there.” Lachlan shrugged. “I’m no’ a martyr and dinna mind staying behind. There’s a bonnie lass at the mill I have my eye on. Manchester will give me close to an extra month with no eyes spying on us.”
“The poor girl must not understand what a rake you are,” added Fenella with a cluck of her tongue.
“I’m only a rake if she wants me to be.” He winked.
Another cart passed them, the dark-bearded driver tipping his hat at them. She studied the crowded walkways, wondering where all the people were going. If any of them could possibly be as happy as Fenella Franklin. Except for that insistent voice in her ear. Tell him about Mother!
“Lachlan…”
“Colin says my brother is involved with a group of activists. He doesna trust some of them, fears they’re causing unrest for their own purposes.”
“You don’t think they would take up arms?”
“Ian insists the faction is peaceful. I agree with the weavers’ complaints, but nothing good will come from challenging the government when the Torries are in power. They’d be cut down like French soldiers. No questions asked, no quarter given.”
“Is it about wages?”
“Aye, with the factory workers taking the brunt of it. The merchants complain of taxation, but when the government gives concessions, they dinna want to give up profit and increase wages. Both groups grumble about the lack of representation in Parliament. A Scottish nobleman is not allowed a seat in the Lords.” He frowned. “We are under the King’s rule, yet have no voice to change our situation. If ye want us to be part of the family, ye must invite us to the table.”