The Scottish Duke Page 24

  He turned his head slightly. Lorna was on her side, her face toward him. She had the most beautiful lashes. Her face was pink, her lips well-kissed and swelling slightly beyond their borders.

  What had she done to him?

  She had ruined him for any other woman, that was certain. Any idea of ever being unfaithful to Lorna was not only distasteful but would be stupid in the extreme.

  He had his psyche, his siren, the woman who affected him as no other woman could right here in his bed. His wife. His surprising, delightful, fascinating wife.

  His laughter woke his son.

  She awoke with a kiss and the soft brush of a fingertip along her cheek.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, then closed at the sight of Alex’s smile. For a brief second she allowed herself the luxury of thinking there was something in his eyes other than humor.

  “Robbie’s hungry.”

  “Umm,” she said. “He’s always hungry.”

  “Will he always be up every few hours?” he asked.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t wake earlier.”

  Sleep beckoned, but she dragged herself upright, eyes still closed.

  “He’s a duke’s son,” she added. “Very autocratic and demanding.”

  She slit open one eye then the next, her head back against the headboard. Robbie was beginning to cry in earnest now, but before she could swing her legs over the side of the bed, Alex was at the cradle.

  “Come here, little man,” he said, scooping the baby up in his arms.

  Alex must have opened the curtains earlier because sunlight streamed into the room, a ray of light catching him in its beam. He stood there, attired in his robe, arms cradling their son, emotion softening his face.

  “Let’s go find your mother, shall we?”

  He turned and stopped, glancing at her.

  Time stilled, the space emptying between them. She sat there, her eyes filled with tears. He stood there, arrested by something he saw. The seconds ticked by filled with unspoken emotion.

  She loved him. She’d been attracted to him from the first moment she’d seen him. She’d felt lust and desire and passion in his arms. He’d annoyed her and made her angry. He’d hurt her but also stirred her, impressed her, and summoned her admiration.

  Somehow, in the weeks and months that had passed, despite everything, she’d fallen in love with him.

  Slowly, he began to walk to her. She unbuttoned her nightgown. He gently placed Robbie in her arms but he didn’t move away. Instead, he stood there, only inches from her, so close she could see each individual bristle of his morning beard, the rapid pulse beat at his throat, and hear his accelerated breathing.

  She put her child to her breast and he watched.

  She shouldn’t be feeling this, not now. How could she be catapulted into desire so easily?

  Could she hint for a kiss? She closed her eyes, trying to ignore him, only to open her eyes wide when she felt the touch of his fingertip on the slope of her breast.

  She glanced at him, but his gaze was fixed on her nipple, on the sight of Robbie eagerly suckling.

  “I never thought that the sight of a mother nursing her child would be so beautiful,” he said. “Thank you for that.”

  He so easily stripped words from her. She didn’t know what to say to that comment. But, then, she’d often sought refuge in her drawings when language failed her. Perhaps she needed to draw him as he appeared now, blue eyes intent, his face molded by concentration, his lips curved into a half smile.

  “Nor did I ever know it could be so arousing.”

  She couldn’t look away. Trapped by his gaze, she let him see everything she was feeling: confusion, wonder, desire, and love.

  “I most definitely don’t want you moving to another room,” he said. “Stay here with me.”

  Perhaps she should have questioned him further. Or asked him if what she saw in his eyes was real. Instead, she only nodded, watching as he stood and made his way to the door.

  Once there, he turned. They shared a look again, one that made her heartbeat escalate.

  Robbie fussed at that moment, as if annoyed that her whole attention wasn’t on him. She glanced down at her son, and when she raised her head again, Alex was gone.

  She stared at the closed door for a long time.

  Chapter 27

  Lorna made their bed herself, straightening the coverlet and fluffing the mattress. She stopped twice to hold Alex’s pillow against her face, breathing deeply. She felt foolish and nearly overcome with emotion.

  She was a duchess, married to a duke, but not any duke. Alex. This morning, waking to his smile, had been glorious.

  “Lorna?”

  She came back to herself to see Nan standing in the doorway of the sitting room, smiling as brightly as the summer sun. The change to lady’s maid had been good for her. Not only was she given more status in the eyes of the staff, but she’d also received an increase in pay and a larger room.

  “Are you ready?” Nan asked, removing her shawl. “I’ll bring in the dresses if you are. Here or in the sitting room?”

  She peeked into the cradle to see Robbie still asleep. “In the sitting room,” she said. “I don’t want to wake him unless I have to. The little darling slept the whole night.”

  Closing the door softly, she entered the sitting room to find that Nan had rearranged the chair and the table, giving them room in front of the settee.

  A few minutes later Nan and Peter entered the room nearly buried by garments. Nan instructed the footman to put them on the nearby chair.

  “I don’t remember that many,” Lorna said after Peter left.

  “I’ve never seen Hortense work so hard,” Nan said. “At every meal, she doesn’t stop talking about patterns and fabrics. She even asked Mrs. McDermott if it would be possible to travel to Inverness to obtain some bolts of the newest material.”

  “What did Mrs. McDermott say?”

  She wasn’t as sanguine as Alex and Louise about people’s opinions. Besides, most of the staff had been friends of various degrees at one time.

  Nan smiled. “That whatever you need Hortense to do she’s to do. You are, after all, the Duchess of Kinross. And quite a heroine to all the maids.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “All the girls believe that if it can happen to you, then they have a chance for happiness, too. Mrs. McDermott even lectured them.” Nan’s expression suddenly changed, as if she just realized what she’d said.

  “On not acting the harlot?”

  “She didn’t mean it that way, Lorna. She just wanted to caution the girls that there isn’t a happy ever after ending in everyone’s story.”

  “Mrs. McDermott is right,” she said. “I’ve been lucky, haven’t I?”

  “You would have managed, somehow,” Nan said.

  Lorna glanced at her. “You’ve been so loyal and generous, Nan. I couldn’t have a better friend than you.”

  “Even when I speak my mind?”

  Lorna smiled. “Especially then. You’ve always given me wise counsel.”

  “You didn’t always listen.”

  “No, but if it hadn’t been for you, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

  Nan answered the knock on the sitting room door. Hortense stood there, holding a tray, her eyes wide, her narrow face white with panic.

  “I was asked to bring this up, seeing as how I was coming,” she said.

  Every item on the tray was clinking against something. If they didn’t intercede quickly, Hortense was going to lose her grip and create yet another disaster.

  Lorna cleared the table in front of the settee just as Nan grabbed the tray to keep everything from tumbling to the floor.

  What was Mrs. McDermott thinking?

  Hortense was tall and spindly, with a habit of leaning forward so that she looked like an egret hunting food. Although Hortense was at least ten years older, Lorna always felt the urge to protect her. Perhaps it was her air of innocence, as if she woke w
ide-eyed and naive each morning. Or her way of laughing like her own amusement surprised her. Her sweet disposition made her a favorite among the staff, and she was so happy with this opportunity to show her sewing talent that it was a pleasure to be around her.

  “I’ll just go get my basket, shall I?” she asked now, looking relieved to be divested of the tray.

  In seconds she was out the door, leaving Lorna to smile at Nan.

  “She’s very sweet,” she said.

  Nan nodded and handed her the plate of biscuits. Lorna didn’t hesitate and grabbed two.

  “She is. She’s also the very worst maid.”

  “But an excellent seamstress,” Lorna said.

  She sat and watched as Nan poured the tea and handed her a cup. Robbie cried out in the bedroom. She put her cup down and was on her feet, tea forgotten.

  Alex got to the stables early, the better to burn off the energy coursing through him. He entered cautiously, pleased when he realized he’d arrived before Mary.

  His mount was Samson, a stallion he rode when he could. Although Mary was a fine rider, he’d given orders that she not be allowed to ride the horse.

  A reaction he hadn’t analyzed until now. He was normally a generous person, or at least he wanted to be considered generous. Yet it annoyed him when Mary took advantage of that largesse or assumed that because he had given her A, then B should be hers as well.

  Mary assumed that everything was hers. She was like Loch Gerry when it occasionally flooded, spreading over the glen until it turned into a marsh. There were no boundaries in her world.

  Was that why she’d made Lorna miserable? Because she was jealous? He couldn’t accept that Mary had any feelings for him. He thought she’d simply decided to acquire him like she had the mare she rode, the wardrobe she wore, or the suite she occupied.

  What the hell was he going to do about his sister-in-law?

  The day was looking to be warmer than yesterday. The wind had calmed, leaving a perfect spring day to appreciate. These quiet moments were few and stolen from his responsibilities and the crowd of people at Blackhall.

  The route he took was one familiar to him, through the woods, down a barely marked path to an outcropping over the loch, then backtracking a little to the road that led to Wittan Village. He took the road to the right to inspect the land around Blackhall and the herds of Highland cattle. Today he would carve some time out of his schedule to visit with a few of the crofters who made their living on Blackhall’s tillable land.

  In a few hours he would be back home, soon enough to see Lorna. Otherwise, she would think him a besotted idiot.

  What a fool he’d been to remain away.

  She tended to Robbie. He wasn’t hungry, since he’d eaten less than an hour earlier. She changed his nappy and rocked him while sitting on the edge of the bed. When she heard a scream, she put Robbie in his cradle and ran into the sitting room.

  Nan was on the floor, her back arched and limbs flailing.

  “What happened?” Lorna asked, falling to her knees beside her friend.

  Hortense stood there weeping and wringing her hands.

  “Tell me, Hortense. What happened?” Lorna turned Nan to her side. Blessedly, the seizure appeared to be easing.

  “I don’t know,” Hortense wailed. “I don’t. We were just sitting there talking, waiting for you, and all of a sudden she fell over.”

  Lorna had never seen that with Nan before. People don’t normally have seizures without a history of them, she thought, and scanned the tray. She’d had two of the biscuits and nothing had happened to her.

  “The tea?” she asked. “Did she drink any of the tea? Did you?”

  When Hortense looked at her wide-eyed, she blew out a breath, exasperated with the other woman.

  “Tell me, Hortense!”

  “I had two biscuits, but not the tea.”

  She placed her hand on Nan’s back, felt the easing of the muscles. In Inverness the innkeeper’s daughter had a seizure. The girl’s mother said that she always knew the episode was over when her daughter’s back was no longer in spasm.

  What Hortense said just registered with her.

  “You didn’t have the tea?” she asked, reaching for the pot.

  She pulled off the cozy and removed the top, sniffing. Even before she raised the pot to her nose, she smelled the distinctive licorice scent of monkwood.

  “How much did she drink?” she asked, fear coloring her voice.

  “I don’t know,” Hortense said. “One cup maybe?”

  There was a cup on the tray. She raised herself up and peered inside. Half the tea was gone.

  If it was monkwood, Nan had already drunk enough to be dangerous. The seizure was over, but her coloring was terrible. Her lips were turning bluish.

  There wasn’t much time.

  Lorna walked over to Hortense and grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “You have to be brave now. I have to go to the cottage to get some medicine for Nan. You have to stay with her. Ring the bell and get the duchess in here to help you and care for Robbie. All right?”

  “All right.”

  “Don’t drink the tea. Don’t let anyone else drink it, either.”

  “Shall I pour it out?” Hortense asked.

  “Don’t touch it,” she said. “It’s poison.”

  She began to run, hoping she wouldn’t be too late.

  Alex hadn’t made it out of view of the castle before he heard a shout. He turned in the saddle, hoping it wasn’t Mary. Instead, Jason was racing toward him, his assistant’s normally pale face florid with effort.

  “Your Grace! Your Grace! Come quick. She’s been poisoned!”

  His heart chilled in that instant.

  “What’s happened?”

  In the next few minutes he realized that Jason, while near perfect in a calm environment, lost his head in a time of crisis.

  “She fell to the floor. Had a fit.”

  “Who? My wife?”

  Jason took a few deep breaths before answering, moments ticking by so slowly he almost dismounted and shook the young man.

  “No, Your Grace. Not the duchess. Nan. She’s had a seizure and the duchess said she was poisoned.”

  Alex turned Samson and raced back to the castle. At the kitchen entrance, he dismounted and handed the reins to a startled maid before taking the servants’ stairs two at a time.

  His mother was in his sitting room, kneeling on the floor beside Nan. Another woman stood in the corner clenching her two hands together and staring at the scene.

  “Where’s Lorna?” he asked.

  His mother glanced up at him only for a second before her attention returned to the unconscious woman on the floor.

  “At the cottage,” she said.

  He raced back down the stairs, wishing his staff weren’t so responsive. Samson had already been turned over to a footman and was halfway to the stables. He grabbed the reins out of the man’s hands, said something he hoped was halfway coherent, mounted, and raced down the road.

  Halfway there, he saw her. Lorna hadn’t even grabbed a shawl in her haste to help Nan.

  “Give me your hands,” he said when he reached her.

  Her face was white, her mouth pursed. He’d only seen the fear in her eyes once before, when she was being verbally assaulted by Reverend McGill.

  “Give me your hands,” he repeated.

  When she did, he pulled her up to sit in front of him on the saddle.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said, putting his arms around her.

  “Nan had some tea before the final fittings. She had a seizure only minutes later.”

  Something in her voice disturbed him.

  “What is it, Lorna?”

  “The tea smelled of monkwood. It has a distinct odor.”

  “It’s poison?” he asked.

  “Deadly poison,” she said.

  They exchanged a look. “Did you drink any of it?”

  “No,” she said. “But I mig
ht have. I had to go check on Robbie.”

  “What’s in the cottage?” he asked when they reached their destination. He lowered her to the ground, tied the reins to the door latch, and followed her inside. “Your herbs were all destroyed.”

  “Not all of them,” she said. “There were some in a special place.”

  “Do you think you can help Nan?”

  Lorna turned and faced him. In the last few minutes, anger had replaced the fear in her eyes.

  “My father wrote about monkwood poisoning. There’s a cure for it. I think I still have what I need.”

  She walked into the bedroom, pulled open the armoire and withdrew a small chest that she put on the bed. Beneath the bed there was another chest, which she also retrieved. Opening both, she selected three cork-stoppered bottles and put them into a cloth bag.

  He followed her as she left the cottage and waited beside his horse. He mounted, then pulled her up beside him once more, tightening his arms around her as he gave Samson his head.

  They didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say. What if Nan didn’t survive? What words could possibly ease the moment?

  When they were back at the castle and in the sitting room, Lorna unpacked the bag and put the bottles on the table. Two contained leaves of some kind, the third a white powder.

  In their absence his mother had retrieved Robbie from the bedroom and now stood with him in her arms, rocking from one foot to the other. Peter had placed Nan on the settee and was standing behind it, biting his lip. Jason stood with him, along with the other woman.

  Alex didn’t know whether to dismiss all of them or allow them to remain there in the room in what might be Nan’s last moments.

  “What can I do?”

  “I need hot water,” she said. “And a little whiskey.”

  He glanced at Peter, who nodded and left the room for the hot water. Alex, meanwhile, poured a tumbler of whiskey from the sitting room sideboard and handed it to Lorna.

  Lorna mixed the white powder with the whiskey then knelt beside the settee.

  Nan’s face was a curious gray, her lips a bluish color.

  “Help me raise her up.”

  He moved to the settee, sat at Nan’s head, and lifted her shoulders. He thought she was unconscious but she moaned when Lorna pressed the glass to her lips.