A Scottish Love Page 27

Oh, neither had she. Tears misted her eyes.

  “With your wounds, Major Imrie, you really do require some ongoing attention.”

  Surprisingly, startlingly, wonderfully, he smiled.

  “Are you offering to be my nurse, Miss Jamison?”

  “I believe it’s a position commensurate with my experience, Major Imrie.”

  “I’ve only a paltry sum available to pay you.”

  She looked around the tower. “But a magnificent place in which to live, sir. Surely, that should count as something.” Reaching out, she touched one aged brick. “You aren’t going to sell it, though, are you? Gairloch is part of you. You’re part of it. I would hate to see anyone but you living here.”

  “I don’t see any other option,” he admitted.

  “There must be one, Fergus.”

  “We’ll figure it out, Elizabeth,” he said.

  Her eyes filled with tears because her heart was so full.

  “Together, though, all right?” He reached for her. “I don’t want to ever lose you again.”

  She smiled through her tears.

  In the next moment, he kissed her for the first time. Somehow, it seemed right to wait until this moment, this place with the stars shining down on Gairloch’s tower, and even the air holding its breath around them.

  A storm was coming. Shona could feel it in the moisture in the air, in the soft night breeze that carried with it a hint of rain. A storm would mirror her mood, allow her to weep in the onslaught of it. She could stand in the courtyard and raise her face to the sky and no one would be able to tell she wept. But would her tears be from frustration, anger, or grief?

  She fled—a thoroughly improper act, since she was hostess—to the library, a room that had always been a sanctuary for her. She could smell the musty volumes, the oiled leather of the covers and feel herself settle and calm.

  As a child, she’d played a game of closing her eyes and walking down each narrow aisle, being able to tell exactly which section she was in by the shape of the books and how they were shelved. The travel books were larger and thicker, and had a great many maps that folded out, making them among the most cumbersome of volumes. But the books on alchemy, almost certainly forbidden when they were first written, were the most fascinating. Certain books had been written in Latin, and contained drawings she didn’t understand. Others had cloth covers that hadn’t worn well in the last two hundred years. Some were leather, kept from cracking by careful oiling.

  The light from the hall streamed into the room, leaving shadows in the corners. She moved to the table beside the secret panel, lighting the lamp there before sitting on the nearby chair. Years ago, she’d arranged to have this chair moved into the library, so that she might sit and read in peace.

  Now, the room was a haven, a place to remember, as well as a refuge.

  “Are you hiding again, Shona Imrie?”

  She stood, facing Gordon.

  “Donegal,” she said, tilting her head up. “My husband was Bruce Donegal, the eighth Earl of Morton.”

  “As if I could forget,” he said.

  “You never seem to remember.”

  He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, or was he storing up the sight of her for his trip to England? For his marriage?

  She hated him at that moment, with every bit of pride she had left.

  “Should I be warmed by the fact that you’re here, and not thinking of some London miss?”

  “Are you jealous, Shona?” he asked, his smile almost smug.

  “Jealous? Why should I be, Gordon? You’re here, instead of there, aren’t you?”

  He approached her, devilment in his eyes. “Indeed I am,” he said.

  He took a few more steps toward her, stalking her, as if she were a Highland deer, and he a hungry predator. Well, she wasn’t going to allow him to back her into a corner.

  She stood her ground, folding her arms and staring at him. When she noticed the direction of his glance, and the fact that her pose only accentuated her bosom, she dropped her arms and frowned at him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I could say you,” he answered, a curious smile curving his lips. “But that’s not how this game is played, is it, Shona?”

  “What game is that, Gordon?”

  “Our thrust and parry. Our constant give and take. If we could be united, I don’t doubt we could accomplish all manner of things.”

  He reached out and stroked a finger along her arm. She took a step back, out of range of his touch.

  “But we’re united only in lust, aren’t we?”

  Did he think to seduce her here, in the library, while two hundred people partied on the other side of the door?

  He strode forward, gently pushed her up against a bookshelf, blocking her escape.

  Glancing down between them, at the sight of her breasts pressed against his chest, he softly said, “I like your dress. I would prefer it, however, if you wore it only for me. The sight of all those other men ogling you has put me in a bad mood.”

  “So, your mood is all their fault,” she said.

  “And yours.”

  “Mine?” she asked, surprised. “I’ve barely spoken to you all night.” Instead, she’d been very careful to avoid him.

  “I know,” he said. “Perhaps that’s what put me in such a bad mood.” His finger traced her bottom lip. “Your lips need kissing,” he said.

  One of Gordon’s kisses was a snare.

  “I don’t want you to touch me,” she said. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  “Does the great Shona Imrie Donegal, Countess of Morton, always get what she wants?” he asked, his tone low and almost fierce.

  She didn’t respond. What could she say? That she’d not gotten what she’d truly wanted for seven years?

  He startled her by cupping his hands around her breasts outside her dress. Her traitorous body immediately reacted to his touch. Her nipples hardened as her pulse beat increased and her breath grew tight.

  And all he did was stand there and hold her.

  “I could take you here,” he said. “Against one of the bookcases. Or the wall. A kilt makes it easier, you know.”

  He could and she wouldn’t fight him. Fight him? She’d probably urge him on. But what she’d learned in the Clan Hall kept her from reaching for him.

  “Go away. Or did you just come here to ogle me yourself?”

  He smiled. “I’ve a mind to kiss you,” he said in a thick brogue. “But I think right now that would be a dangerous thing.”

  She only stared at him, reminding herself that he’d spoken of a woman in London. She would not be a substitute, a surrogate for another. Did he love her? The question kept her silent.

  He surprised her by grabbing the material of her sleeve, that scrap of fabric slipping down her arm, and pinning the Imrie Clan brooch there. Once fixed, he patted it as if to keep it in place.

  “If you want a better position,” he said, “you should have worn a more substantial dress.”

  Her gaze flew to his face.

  “I never meant to keep it,” he said, stepping back.

  “I won’t take your charity, Gordon MacDermond,” she said.

  His face changed. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes of his, flattened.

  “No, you won’t, will you? You won’t take anything from me. Except lust. Well, Shona, I’ve decided that I’m a bit more particular in my bed partners.”

  What did that mean?

  She went to remove the brooch, but before she could, he turned and walked away, leaving the library, as proud and as stubborn as any Imrie.

  Now, she truly did want a good cry, but there was hardly time for it, was there? Perhaps she could indulge in a little histrionics after the party was done, and the guests all sent home with visions of something other than either Fergus or herself indulging in a fit of temper.

  A sound nudged her from her self-pity. At first, she thought it was someone coming into the library. Pressing
her cool hands against her heated cheeks, she hoped for calm and some form of composure.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let me make a fool of myself again.

  The noise, however, was coming from inside the passage. As if someone was struggling to get out.

  She pressed the release and watched as the secret door swung open.

  A second later, everything went black.

  Chapter 29

  In all her life, Helen Paterson had never had such a delightful time. She danced a series of country dances, despite the fact she didn’t know the steps to any of them. Her companions thought it great fun whenever she stepped right when she should have stepped left or vice versa. Once, she turned around and realized she shouldn’t have turned at that moment, and joined in the general hilarity.

  She’d also sipped whiskey. Well, perhaps it was more than just a sip. The world became a warm and amber-tinged place, where people smiled at her, and wished her well. She felt so grateful to each and every one of them that she wanted to kiss and hug them all.

  Evidently, she wasn’t to hug everyone she saw, because that only made people laugh more. She wasn’t the least offended. Who could be angry at laughter?

  The longer the party kept on, however, the more she was conscious of a vague and troubling notion. Finally, when the dawn sky was visible through the open front door, she figured out what it was.

  Shona wasn’t at the party.

  Fergus had reappeared in the Clan Hall with Elizabeth on his arm. They’d danced together, to the surprise of both Mr. Loftus and his daughter. Twice, in full view of the entire gathering, he’d kissed her on the cheek. That had garnered the approval of everyone, except for the Americans.

  Would Shona have been pleased?

  A question Helen intended to ask the moment she was located. Where on earth could Shona be?

  Around dawn, the guests began leaving. The poor cook and the maid had served everyone a hearty breakfast. Even dear Mr. Loftus had partaken. She’d spied him sipping some whiskey and only shook her head at him when he glanced in her direction. He really did need to be taken in hand.

  She had the most curious feeling of dizziness when she stood, and wondered if it was the aftereffect of the amount of whiskey she’d sipped. If so, she really didn’t want to sample any ever again. And this growing headache, was that a remnant, too?

  How did people consume the stuff on a daily basis?

  A few minutes later, she stood at the door behind Fergus and Elizabeth, waving to the departing guests.

  “Have you seen Shona?” she asked, when there was a lull in the farewells.

  Fergus shook his head before glancing toward Elizabeth, who left to tend to her patient.

  “Mr. Loftus will need to hire another nurse,” he said.

  Did he think that such an announcement would surprise her? It had been obvious from the moment Elizabeth had come to Gairloch that they were smitten with each other.

  “Do you think Shona went to bed early?”

  How very strange, if so. But it had been all too evident that Shona was uncomfortable since the moment Miriam announced she was wearing a borrowed dress.

  He glanced up the stairs where Elizabeth was following behind Helmut and her employer.

  “Fergus,” she said, frustrated at his inattention. “Shona. Why would she have left the party?”

  He finally concentrated on her. “Gordon left early. Perhaps she left with him.”

  A thoroughly shocking thing to do, of course. Even as surprising was the fact that Fergus had suggested it.

  She left him to finish the farewells, following the others up the stairs. They would all sleep the day away. Miriam had probably already retired. But she discovered that Shona had not.

  She wasn’t in her room, in Helen’s room, or in the public rooms of Gairloch.

  As the morning sun set the dew to sparkling, Helen told herself that she was being foolish. Shona was a grown woman, more than capable of taking care of herself. It was quite evident that she’d gone off with Gordon. If that were the case, she’d only be embarrassed by Helen continuing to look for her.

  With great reluctance, she went off to her own bed, hoping that the feeling she was getting was only the punishment she received for imbibing whiskey and nothing else.

  A harsh voice spoke to her, the sound of it rising and falling like a sighing breath. “I’ve got you now. You won’t bother anyone.”

  The echo of it seemed to linger for hours, followed by the sound of receding footsteps.

  Shona closed her eyes, but the pain didn’t go away. Slowly, she raised her hand to her head, and felt something warm and sticky on the side of her head. Blood?

  She was lying on the floor of the passage. She blinked, but that didn’t make it any easier to see. She was in total darkness, so complete that it felt smothering. Rustling sounds somewhere ahead of her made her try to sit up. She wasn’t going to be nibbled on by a rat.

  Deciding what to do, however, was a little different from actually accomplishing the feat. The pain grew as she raised her head higher, supporting herself on one forearm. Nausea, swift and unexpected, made her take a few deep breaths before continuing.

  Suddenly, it was simply easier to rest. To close her eyes and pretend this was only a dream.

  Chapter 30

  The song of the piper hung in the clear air. A signal, then, to be away.

  Anne was leaving with little, feeling as she did that most of it belonged to her husband. Her sons, dear God, she was leaving her sons, but they were of an age now to barely note her living, and probably barely note her absence.

  For the first time in her life, she was going to do something forbidden and dreadful, for the most wonderful of reasons. She and Brian were going away, to live together where the world would think them man and wife. He was going to say farewell to his new home, and she was going to say good-bye to all she’d held dear. Until, of course, she’d fallen in love with him.

  The world would not understand, and God would not forgive, but she knew how Eve had felt in the Garden. Even though God had forbidden her, she’d felt compelled to eat of the fruit anyway.

  She’d lain with Brian and felt no shame. Dear Heavenly Father, she’d only felt unclean when her husband had come to her bed days later.

  A sign, then, that she should not regret what she did.

  They would have each other to love and comfort even if the rest of the world shunned them. What was the world, anyway, but people with narrowed eyes and long noses?

  She was taking only her silver brush, a gift from her mother at her wedding; a miniature of her parents; and a lock of hair from each of her sons. She would never forget them, although after today, they would probably never mention her name again.

  Slowly, carefully, and with great stealth, she made her way to the corridor linking the Clan Hall to the kitchen area, then ducked into the newly built map room. Magnus was very fond of maps, and had shelves built to hold all of them. When she’d mentioned that the room would make a fine library, he’d ignored her as he did most of her pronouncements.

  Would he even notice she was gone?

  The secret door was easily opened. Each week one member of the clan was given the responsibility for seeing to it that the passage was kept clear and the doors functional. After all, it was an escape route for them if they were ever trapped in Gairloch, just as it was an escape route for her, now.

  Shona made it to her knees, resting a moment as dizziness almost forced her to the ground again. Finally, she got to her feet, leaning weakly against the door. Reaching out, she grabbed the pull for the door release.

  Nothing happened.

  She closed her eyes, waiting until the dizziness passed, and tried again. The door didn’t open.

  She’d simply misjudged, that was all. All she had to do was to remain calm, trace her fingers up the stone wall, pull down on the handle as she had so many times. The door would open slowly and she would slip into the library.

  Whe
n she pulled on the release, nothing happened.

  She was not going to panic. She was, after all, an Imrie. But even more than that, she knew the passages well. How many times had she traveled through them? A hundred? Two hundred? If there was something wrong with the door release into the library, there were at least ten other doors.

  All she had to do was remember how to navigate the passages.

  She sat, knees drawn up, with her back to the door. The effect of pure darkness was disorienting. Even if she blinked, she couldn’t see anything.

  A sound startled her, sounding so much like a sigh that she called out. “Who’s there?”

  No one answered.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees, wishing she’d worn anything but the crimson dress. Her arms were cold, and her back felt like ice where it rested against the door.

  The next closest door was in the Clan Hall. She got to her feet, turned left, and slowly began walking, counting her paces. Her right hand stretched out to the stone of the far wall, and she fervently hoped she didn’t encounter any insects going about their lives in perfect darkness.

  Ahead was a small rectangular bar of yellow-white light. She began to smile as she made her way to it.

  Standing on tiptoe, she looked out into the Clan Hall. The dancing had spilled out from the Family Parlor, and now people were engaged in one of those country dances she’d learned as a child.

  She was certain to scare the lot of them when she emerged from the passage. Then, too, she would reveal the presence of the secret passages. But she wasn’t about to wait here until the room was cleared of guests.

  Reaching up, she pulled on the bottom of the torch holder. The door didn’t open. She pulled on the latch again, and only heard a noise like metal grinding on metal. Had something been wedged between the opening mechanism and the door? In the darkness, she traced each part of the latch as far into the door she could. The hasp ended in a sharp edge, as if it had been sawed through.

  Had that happened with the door to the library?

  The faint panic she’d been able to subdue earlier was growing now.

  She banged on the door with both fists. This section was brick on the other side. That, coupled with the noise of the party and the music, meant that no one heard her.