by Lauren Smith
Lydia peered over Brodie’s shoulder to see the youngest of the Kincade brothers. Like Brodie, he had dark hair and fathomless gray eyes. He was perhaps an inch taller and thinner too, well built but not quite the mountain of muscle his brother was. Around his shoulders a pine marten rested, its claws digging into the young man’s coat as it held on. Aiden carefully unwound the long creature and set it on the floor. The creature glanced between the two men before scurrying away down the corridor.
“So, this is the lass who sent Brock and Ashton running off to Edinburgh?” Aiden’s teasing smile set Lydia at ease. He was as Brodie had said, gentle, yet there was nothing weak about him. Rather, he seemed to radiate a quiet strength.
“Hello, I’m Lydia Hunt.” She stepped around Brodie, but he kept a possessive arm around her waist.
“It’s a pleasure, lass.” Aiden smiled, and his humor shone through when he spoke next to his brother. “I willna steal her from you, brother, no matter how she might fall for me.” Aiden batted his lashes in a silly way at Lydia.
“Hush, puppy,” Brodie snapped, but he finished with a chuckle.
Aiden winked at Lydia again. “I hope you don’t mind a few wee beasties about the castle,” Aiden said.
“Not at all. Brodie told me all about your furry companions. I think it’s quite charming. We were just admiring the little owl up there a moment ago.”
Aiden gave his brother a surprised look. “I think you ought to marry this lass, brother.”
Brodie pointedly ignored Aiden’s comment. “We should go to dinner. You must be famished.”
They left the library and met Rafe and their young charge coming down the stairs. Isla sat astride the banister, and Rafe was aiding her balance as she slid down.
“Good Lord, we’ve been spotted, kitten. Run!” Rafe scooped her up, and they sprinted back up the stairs, where Rafe stopped and twirled around, making the child squeal with delight.
“Who is the child?” Aiden asked.
“She’s an orphan we rescued in Edinburgh,” said Brodie.
Aiden’s eyes fixed on the child as Rafe carried the giggling girl back down the stairs. “An orphan?”
“Kitten, this is Aiden, Brodie’s younger brother. Aiden, this is the kitten.”
“I thought I was the kitten,” Lydia teased Rafe.
“That you are. All sweet women are kittens. I shan’t tell you what I call women who aren’t so sweet.”
Brodie snorted at that.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Aiden bowed formally to Isla, who smiled shyly and half hid behind Rafe’s legs.
“I’m Isla. Isla MacKenzie.”
“She’s my little Isla Mac.” Rafe looked like a proud father. The little girl had already stolen his heart.
Rafe looked hopefully at the others. “Did I hear someone mention dinner?”
“Yes, we were just about to send someone to fetch you.”
They all proceeded into the large dining room. It had been recently remodeled after a fire that had destroyed much of the castle. Lydia had been stunned when Brodie told her the story during the ride here. How Brock and Joanna’s cook, a woman who had been in love with their deceased and abusive father, had tried to poison Joanna and then attempted to burn down the castle.
Thankfully, no one but the mad cook had died, but the castle had been in ruins. The local townsfolk the brothers had supported for years came to help rebuild it. With the help of Joanna’s fortune, they had recently finished the repairs.
The new dining room held a large oak table, and the cold stone walls had been softened with tapestries depicting Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Highland warriors preparing for battle. A few family portraits also hung by the fireplace at one end of the room. Brodie pointed them out to her.
“That’s my mother and Rosalind.”
“Your sister looks just like your mother.”
“Aye, she does. It used to enrage my father to see Rosalind after our mother passed. It’s why she fled home so young and married the first Englishman she came across. She was able to escape with him to London and have a good life, until he died and she married that bloody baron.”
Brodie shot a look at Rafe, who laughed. “You won’t hear me disagree.”
Lydia sensed that Rafe and his older brother did not get along all that well.
Thankfully, Isla was a welcome distraction from these uncomfortable topics. She now told Aiden about how she and Rafe had explored the house.
“We found two otters in the large fountains in the gardens.” Isla giggled. “They were hiding under lily pads.”
Aiden’s unguarded smile made Lydia grin as well. When she caught Brodie’s eye, he was relaxed, watching his brother and Isla with open fondness.
He can love, if only I had time to win his heart. But Lydia had to be smart and not allow her desires and wishes to make the situation worse.
“Then we found a hedgehog,” said Isla. “She was quite fussy. And the badger!” The girl was delighted to have the focus of the entire table on her. It wasn’t because she needed attention, but she was hungry for affection. In a way, Lydia understood. Although her father was very much alive, he had never been fully alive for her, only Portia. Lydia had lived a half life when it came to her family.
Brodie leaned over to whisper in her ear. “What’s the matter, lass? You look troubled.”
Lydia wanted to unburden herself to him, but she didn’t dare. He had used her emotional weaknesses against her in an argument before when he was angry, and she had no desire to ever allow him to do that again.
“It’s nothing. I believe I am missing home.” It wasn’t a lie. Even in the midst of this adventure, she still longed for home. Not that Bath was truly home. Home was wherever her loved ones were. She loved the people at this table, but she also missed her father, her sister, and even Aunt Cornelia.
“Perhaps a bit of dancing will do you good?” Brodie suggested.
“Dancing?”
“Aye, dancing. Aiden, fetch your fiddle after dinner,” Brodie told his younger brother.
Lydia brightened instantly, and her heart skipped a beat. Dancing? Here? How wonderful.
Brodie placed a hand on her thigh under the table, brushing his fingers over her leg, and it only heightened her excitement.
“Tonight, you willna be dancing alone. You will be dancing with me,” Brodie promised.
20
Brodie escorted Lydia into the ballroom, which had been refinished with a new wooden dancing floor. Aidan retrieved his violin and stood in the corner of the room while servants rushed to light the wall lamps and the candles in the chandeliers. Rafe held Isla’s hand and was explaining how men and women danced at balls, and then he executed a feminine curtsy to show the girl what to do next. Lydia’s laughter at the sight had Brodie’s heart skipping a few beats. She was so perfect, especially when she lowered her guard and could be herself, assuming that no one was paying attention to her.
Aiden finished tightening the strings and gave a nod to the dancers.
“Miss Hunt.” Brodie grinned as he bowed to Lydia. She curtsied, holding her gown away from her legs, and when she did, he caught a glimpse of her delicate ankles.
“Mr. Kincade,” she answered with a teasing smile. Then they began to dance as Aiden played a lively tune.
Lydia was the best dancer he’d ever seen, both quick and sure-footed, with delicate, light steps. She pirouetted, hopped, twirled, and clapped in time to the country dance as though she danced every day of her life. Perhaps she did. She’d almost said as much at the inn they’d stayed at on the way to Edinburgh. The thought that she was a woman who quite literally danced her way through life, even in secret, filled his chest with an undeniable warmth.
He kept pace with her, laughing as they locked arms at the elbow and spun, before he caught her by the waist and twirled her in a dizzying circle.
So long as the music played and she was in his arms, he could forget all about the rest of the world, or the
limited time they had together. There was only this dance and the perfect woman with him.
The music finally died, and Brodie clutched Lydia tightly to him, both of them breathing hard. She lowered her lashes, the exertion giving a healthy color to her cheeks. When their gazes locked again, he smiled at her, his body almost trembling with his joy.
“Has the music stopped?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
He lifted his head and looked about, but the ballroom was empty. There was no sign of Rafe, Isla, or Aiden. How long had they been gone?
“Never mind. I still hear music,” Brodie said.
“Oh? You do?” She chuckled. “What does it sound like?”
“A slow waltz.” He softly began to hum the melody of a waltz. Brodie held her hand with one hand and her waist with the other as he danced with her alone in the ballroom. He fell into her blue eyes as he sang an old song his mother used to sing when he was a boy.
* * *
Oh the summertime is coming
And the trees are sweetly blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, go?
* * *
Lydia caught on to the melody and hummed with him as he sang.
* * *
And we’ll all go together
To pluck wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, go?
* * *
I will build my love a tower
Near yon pure crystal fountain
And on it I will build
All the flowers of the mountain.
Will ye go, lassie, go?
* * *
And we’ll all go together
to pluck wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather.
Will ye go, lassie, go?
Let us go, lassie, go.
* * *
Brodie raised her hand high so Lydia could twirl before coming back into his arms. Brodie held his breath as her body pressed against his.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was overcome by joy, pure and untainted. It filled him to bursting. It was both the best and worst of feelings.
“Thank you,” Lydia said as she pressed her head to his chest.
“For what?” he asked.
“For letting me have an adventure with you. Ladies like me don’t often have the chance to run off chasing the sunset. We stay home, sew, read, and pretend that we are content with a life with that and nothing more. Society allows a lady like me to live only a half life. But you’ve treated me like a whole person. You’ve cared for me in your way and shown me what it means to feel all the things a person ought to in life. That is what I’m thankful for.”
Brodie couldn’t speak. The lass had robbed him of all words. He gathered her in his arms, holding her long after the lamps burned low and moonlight covered the floor, lending a melancholy beauty to the two of them alone in the ballroom.
“Why don’t we go to bed?” he suggested.
Lydia linked her fingers to his. “Show me the way.”
Joanna, Rosalind, and Regina entered the townhouse in Edinburgh late that night. The ladies were exhausted. Joanna’s mood was sour after the journey, and her concern about her friend only increased when the Lennox butler informed her at the door that Lydia was not there.
“Where is my husband?”
“In the drawing room, my lady,” Shelton said. “He and his lordship are in good spirits.” The butler almost chuckled, as if it were somehow a joke.
“Good spirits?” Regina echoed suspiciously. “Come now, Shelton,” she admonished.
The butler winced. “I meant to say they are foxed, my lady.”
“Foxed?” Rosalind scowled. “My husband doesn’t get foxed, especially when he is supposed to be on a rescue mission.”
“You may wish to inform him of that, my lady.”
Joanna scowled and led the other two women into the drawing room. They skidded to a stop at the sight of Brock and Ashton laughing in chairs by the fire, two empty bottles of whiskey between them.
“Lass!” Brock grinned, his eyes slightly glassy from his drinking.
“Sister!” Ashton chuckled unevenly and then raised an empty glass to Rosalind. “Wife, and mother.” He gave a drunken cheer.
“Ashton!” his mother snapped. “What’s gotten into you?”
“More a matter of what’s gotten into them.” Ashton pointed at the two younger women and then snorted in laughter. It took Brock a second to work it out, and then he started to laugh as well.
“Us?” Joanna shared a glance with Rosalind, who was equally confused.
“Explain yourself,” Regina demanded.
“Bairns,” said Ashton.
Regina shook herself. The word as it came from his lips made no sense. “Bay-urns?” Was he trying to say something Scottish?
“Aye,” Brock cut in. “We began to talk about them, and the next thing we knew, we were celebrating, and then we just sort of . . . kept on celebrating.” Brock had to explain slowly as he had trouble focusing on the words.
“Bairns . . . Oh! Babes!” Regina spun to face the other two women. “Wonderful! Which of you is going to have my first grandchild?”
Joanna sheepishly raised her hand, only to have Rosalind do the same.
“Both of you?” Regina cried out in delight and embraced both women at the same time.
Joanna hugged her mother back, but she was soon scowling at her husband and brother once again. “Why didn’t you stop Rafe and Brodie?”
“Because they were already gone,” Ashton said with a sigh. “Poor Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt are bound for the Isle of Skye.”
“What?” Rosalind gasped. “Why the Isle of Skye?”
Brock explained what Shelton had told him. By the end, the three women had formulated a plan.
“Once you sleep off the drink, you must go and chase down Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt. We shall all escort them to Castle Kincade.”
Ashton and Brock looked thoroughly displeased with the idea.
“I think it’s time you two went to bed,” Regina ordered the two drunken men.
Ashton and Brock both laughed at that, but when they looked toward their wives, they sobered a bit.
“I think they’re serious,” whispered Brock.
“Brock. Bed. Now,” Joanna said, and Rosalind gave Ashton a pointed look that required no words.
Both men stood and moved on unsteady legs toward the women. Joanna put an arm around Brock’s back as they allowed Shelton to escort them to an empty bedchamber. Brock collapsed onto the bed, and Joanna had to straddle each of his legs to pull his riding boots off.
“How did you know about the baby?” she asked as she dropped the second boot to the floor.
“I always ken when you leave our bed, Sassenach. It feels empty without you. When you kept leaving me, something felt wrong. So I followed you, my sweet brave lass, and I heard you toss your accounts into the chamber pot.”
Joanna fell onto the bed beside Brock, and he pulled her close, kissing her.
“Are you upset about the baby? You and Ash were quite drunk this evening.”
“Upset? Did we sound upset to you, lass? But I must admit, I am worried. I didna have a good father, nor did you and Ashton. He and I spoke, and we both fear we won’t be good fathers.”
Joanna smacked his chest. “Getting foxed is not what a good husband or father does. Talk to your wives next time. Rosalind and I know you will be good fathers.”
“How can you be sure of that, Sassenach?” He looked so serious and troubled.
“Brock, who raised your siblings after your mother died?”
“I did.”
“Exactly. And did they all turn out well?”
Brock looked suddenly sheepish. “Well, Brodie’s gone and kidnapped a—”
“Besides that . . .admittedly complicated matter.”<
br />
“Er . . .” He still looked doubtful.
“At the very least, Aiden and Rosalind are fine. You did that.”
“So you’re saying two out of three isn’t bad?”
Joanna groaned. “When we learn the truth about Brodie, then we can decide whether we need to assess your parenting skills again. But the truth is, you took care of them. Three of them. And not only that, you had to protect them from the abuse and tyranny of your father. If you could manage that under such dire conditions, imagine what you’ll be like raising a child without that fear and abuse looming over you.”
The crease in his brow faded. “You truly believe that, lass? I will be a good father?”
“I do.” She nuzzled his cheek and then cupped his face so she could press a lingering kiss to his lips.
Brock wound his arms around her waist. “You know, I’m not too foxed to make love to you.”
“Is that so?” Joanna giggled. “Prove it to me, Scot.”
And so he did.
Jackson Hunt faced a decision he had never expected to encounter again in his lifetime. It was close to midnight. They had finished a late dinner, and the candlelight made Jane’s skin glow like smooth alabaster. She had removed the pins in her hair earlier that evening, and her dark-red hair tumbled down in silky waves. She smelled like the most exotic flowers in a well-tended hothouse.
“Jackson?” She spoke his name sweetly.
“Yes?” he replied, his throat a little hoarse with emotion.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
Jane’s lips twitched with the ghost of a smile. “Staring at me.” She cupped her chin in her hands and rested her elbows on their small dining table in the private room of the coaching inn.
“Oh.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was thinking.”
“About what?” Jane moved her chair a few inches closer to his. The dark blue of her velvet gown was adorned with a diamond-and-pearl-studded brooch, which accented the swell of her perfect breasts. It was hard to think straight when she was tempting him like this.