The Laird's Forbidden Lady

‘Aye.’

Talk about taciturn. ‘Why does the mill need a chimney?’

He hesitated, his expression becoming carefully neutral. ‘To keep the miller warm in the winter.’

A lie. Though it sounded logical enough. What did it matter that he didn’t care to tell her the truth? She didn’t care what the Gilvrys did with their old falling-down mill.

He carried her into the barn and set her down on a hay bale. Immediately, she felt the loss of the strength around her body, and his seductive warmth, whereas he looked glad to be rid of her. Had she not a smidgeon of pride?

Apparently some part of her did not. The childish naïve part that had admired him from the first moment she saw him. The part of her she’d long ago buried.

Silently, he tied Topaz to a post, while Gilly curled up at her feet.

Her thigh wasn’t hurting nearly as much as before. She’d given it a jolt and the bones that had knit badly had decided to protest the rough treatment. But even though the ache had subsided, she doubted she had the strength to manage her horse. She would have to settle for his alternative mode of transport.

The only occupant of the barn was a small dun-coloured pony, which he led from its stall and proceeded to hitch to a flat-bedded wagon.

‘Your chariot awaits, my lady,’ he said wryly.

She rose to her feet, but he gave her no chance to walk, simply scooping her up and depositing her on some empty sacks he’d laid across the bare boards.

He was unbelievably strong, so unlike most of the gentlemen of the ton who defined themselves by their clothes, not their manly attributes. So unlike the elegant Dunstan.

Oh, now that really was being disloyal.

She shifted until her back was supported against the wooden boards along the side. The smell of barley wafted up. A sweet dusty smell.

He frowned. ‘There are no blankets, but I can give you my coat.’

No. She would not go home wrapped in his coat. It was bad enough she had to suffer his help. Wasn’t it?

‘This will do.’ She picked up a couple of the sacks and covered her legs with one and put the other around her shoulders. She flashed a smile and fluttered her lashes in parody. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like a tinker’s wife,’ he said, a twinkle appearing in the depths of his eyes, making him look more attractive than ever. A twinkle she knew better than to trust.

She kept her voice light and breathy, her smile bright. ‘The first stare of tinker fashion, though, surely?’

The corner of his mouth tipped up as if it wanted to smile more than was seemly. ‘Top of the trees, my lady.’

Something about his bantering tone made her feel warm and her smile softened.

They grinned at each other the way they had on those long-ago summer afternoons, before he had turned his back on her so cruelly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her heart lurched. Her breath caught. Many men had looked at her with heat since her come out. Not once in that time had her heart tumbled over in such a ridiculous fashion. She broke hearts. Men did not touch hers. Ever. That was the way to get hurt.

And besides, she was as good as betrothed to a very worthy man who was utterly besotted.

She turned her face away. ‘We should go.’

‘Aye. I’ll tie your horse on behind.’

She swallowed against the feeling of loss as he walked away, trying to blot out her stupid reactions to his smile by thinking about Father and his reaction when he learned she’d been carted home by a man he despised. Father would not be pleased.

Horse dealt with, Ian leapt easily into the driver’s seat with such agility, he made her feel more clumsy and awkward than she usually did these days.

He half turned in the seat, one foot resting against the footboard, his plaid falling away to reveal his knee and the start of a firm muscled calf dusted with dark hair before it disappeared in his sock. So very male. So very intriguing. So very out of bounds. She forced her gaze away.

‘The track is rough,’ he said. ‘I will take it as easy as I can.’

‘I’m not an invalid.’

‘I never said you were.’ He clicked his tongue and the pony started walking. Gilly jumped up over the side of the cart and landed beside her. He lay against her legs.

‘Off,’ Ian said.

The dog flattened his ears, but didn’t move.

‘Leave him,’ Selina said. ‘He’s keeping me warm.’

‘Lucky him,’ he muttered.

Her jaw dropped. Had he really said what she thought she heard? Or was he being sarcastic? He was staring morosely at the road ahead.

‘What happened to your leg?’ he asked. ‘I saw you walking at the ball.’

So much for her efforts to glide smoothly. ‘My carriage tipped over and fell on me.’

He winced. ‘I hope the idiot driver was suitably punished.’

‘I was. I broke my leg.’

His cheekbones flushed red. ‘Oh. I didna’ mean—’

‘The accident was my fault. I was driving too fast and not looking where I was going.’ Thinking about her recent male conquest if the truth be told. ‘I was lucky I was the only one hurt by my stupidity. It doesn’t hurt much any more, but the bones didn’t set quite right.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded sorry. But then once he’d sounded as if he liked her, until his brothers caught them together.

Sassenach. Thief. The taunts danced in her head. The war between the Scots and the English might be over, but their families would battle until no one remained to swing a verbal sword.

The track had joined the main road where the jolts were less and their pace improved. Soon they were driving through Dunross village where a group of ragged boys were kicking a pig’s bladder back and forth across the lane. When they saw the cart, they came running over. ‘Laird, Laird,’ one of the boys shouted, then said something in Gaelic.

Ian replied in the same language. He half turned to her. ‘They want me to play with them.’

One of them spotted her in the cart and his eyes rounded in his grimy face. He pointed at her and yelled something. The boys all sniggered.

Ian grinned and replied, clearly in the negative.

She squared her shoulders, set her face in untroubled calm while inside she curled in a tight ball. ‘What did he say?’

Ian laughed. ‘Boys. They have one-track minds. They want to know if you are my woman. I told them, no, that you are a lady and to be treated with respect.’

She relaxed, looking back and seeing the boys had returned to their game. ‘Shouldn’t the children be in school?’

‘Aye.’

Could he not say more than one word at a time? ‘You call yourself Laird—why do you not convince their families to give them an education?’

He glanced back at her, his brows lowered, his eyes hard. ‘They call me Laird, because that is what I am. The nearest school is fifteen miles hence.’

‘Why not start a school in the village?’

‘Where?’ He sounded frustrated.

She subsided into silence. Father should be the one to open a school. He owned almost everything except the old mill and the Gilvrys’ farmland.

‘I will speak to my father about setting up a school. Perhaps in the church hall.’

Now he looked surprised, and heaven help her, pleased. ‘It would be a grand thing for the families hereabouts,’ he said. ‘There are children up in the glens who would come, too, when they weren’t needed for chores. It would give them a future.’

She cast him a sly smile. ‘And keep them out of mischief.’

He chuckled. ‘Perhaps, my lady. Me and my brothers got up to all sorts of mischief, despite having a tutor. But it is true that we had less time to get into trouble.’

A feeling of warmth stole through her, the feeling they had begun to talk like friends again, rather than enemies. She liked the way it felt.

As they approached the tavern in the centre of the village a youngish man sweeping the cobbles doffed his hat at their approach. He grinned at Ian. ‘Good day to you, Laird.’

Ian acknowledged the greeting with a nod.

Then the man’s gaze fell on Selina and all traces of good humour disappeared from his ruddy face. He spat on the ground. ‘That’s Albright’s get. You should be dropping her in the nearest peat bog and letting her drown, not driving her around the countryside. It would serve Albright well to see what it is like to lose something.’

‘Enough, Willy Gair,’ Ian said. ‘You know that is not the Highland way of it.’

The young man glared at him. ‘Highlanders look after their ane, not the English who have no business here. You are a traitor to your clan, Ian Gilvry, if you have aught to do with them up at the keep.’ He started towards them, giving Selina a look filled with such hatred that her mouth dried and her heart picked up speed.

‘I’ll speak to you later, Willy,’ Ian said grimly and urged the pony into a trot.

She bit her lip. Nothing had changed over the years. ‘Why is he so angry?’

‘He was evicted last month,’ Ian said flatly. ‘His family had been crofters on Dunross land for generations. When he couldn’t pay the rent, he had to leave. He is one of the lucky ones. His brother-in-law owns the inn and is able to give him a little work and a roof over his head.’

‘Father said nothing about evictions.’

His expression said how would she know what her father did.

‘Why would he?’

‘Sheep.’

Another one-word answer that was as clear as mud. Clearly he wasn’t going to say more. Well, she would just have to ask her father.

‘Almost there,’ Ian announced.

Beyond him, Dunross Keep jutted up into the blue sky.

The last time he’d carried her home he’d been nothing but a gangly boy, but to her he’d seemed like a knight in shining armour, and she his lady. Childish romantic nonsense.

He turned his head slightly, still looking ahead. ‘Angus McIver is heading this way on foot.’

She winced. ‘I said I’d be back in an hour.’ She raised herself up and peered over his shoulder. A severe-looking Angus with a knobby walking stick was striding towards them. She waved.

Ian’s lips pressed tight. He drew the cart up when he came abreast of the big Scot.

‘My Lady. Laird.’ Angus touched the bonnet perched on his head. ‘Thank ye for bringing the lassie home.’

Selina let go a breath. No yelling. No harsh words. A simple grim politeness, but then the Highlanders were known for their impeccable manners. Some of them.

Jaw set, Ian nodded. ‘I’ll drive her in.’

‘Best not. I’ll take her and the horse in through the gate.’

‘Angus,’ she gasped.

‘I’ve no wish to enter the keep,’ Ian said harshly. He clicked his tongue and the horse moved onwards. ‘Not while it belongs to another.’

The whip of his words caught her on the raw. She was wrong about him. He resented her just as much as he always had.

And there was something she’d been putting off saying. She’d forgotten until just now. She’d have to hurry if she didn’t want Angus to overhear.

‘I never thanked you for calling your brother Andrew home after I wrote to you.’

He stiffened, his face turning granite hard.

‘My friend, she is happily married now. It … it all turned out for the best.’

‘Did it now?’

‘It was good of you.’ His granite expression made it hard to continue. ‘I just wanted to thank you.’

His lips twisted into a bitter line. ‘And one good turn deserves another. You’ll no mention the changes at the mill to your father.’ The cart lurched to a halt beside the stone arch.

Her stomach dipped. It was hardly the kind of response to her thanks she’d expected. He was waiting for her answer. She straightened her shoulders. ‘No. I won’t say a thing.’

Then Angus was there, reaching into the back of the wagon to help her down.

The dog lifted his lip and growled low in his throat.

Selina laughed, albeit the sound a little brittle, but true to form, and Angus noticed nothing. ‘You’ll have to get past my protector, Mr McIver.’

Angus glanced up at Ian. How odd. She’d meant the dog.

‘Gilly,’ Ian growled. ‘Down.’

The dog put its ears down and thumped its tail, sending up a puff of dust. Angus lifted her down.

‘Can ye walk, lass?’ He handed her his stick. A solid, gnarled length of hawthorn.

She gave him a grateful smile. ‘This will certainly help.’

The old Scot untied Topaz, grasped him by the bridle. Together they walked towards the gate

At the sound of the cart pulling away, she glanced back and met Ian’s dark gaze. He nodded, a slight movement of his head, yet it seemed to say I trust you not to betray me.

And she wouldn’t. She never had.

Her heart was pounding as if she had run a mile, when really she had only walked the few steps from the manse. It was excitement causing her heart to beat faster, not the fear of seeing Ian again. Or the prospect of seeing his pleasure at the news she brought.

Dry-mouthed, she knocked on the door of his house. One of the few not owned by her father. Some long time ago, Ian’s grandfather had married well, giving the family the house, some land and the mill, according to her father. And they’d been a thorn in the side of every Albright since.

If they would just work together … Perhaps they could now, if Ian’s pride would let him accept her offer. Half-afraid she might turn and run, she knocked again. Breath held, she listened to the sound of footsteps on the other side.

The door swung back and Ian stared at her, his mouth dropping open. He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. His throat was bare, where he had not donned a cravat. He looked thoroughly rakish and disreputable. Inside she winced. Clearly, she should have warned him of her intended visit.

He rubbed at his chin with an ink-stained thumb as he clearly tried to recover from his surprise. ‘Lady Selina?’ He glanced over his shoulder, then stepped outside to join her on the front step, pulling the door almost closed behind him, as if he did not want whoever was inside to know she was there.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. A bright smile formed on her lips. It always did when she was nervous. She nodded regally. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Gilvry.’

The wary look on his face remained. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have something to show you.’

‘What sort of something?’

Always suspicious. She pulled the key from her reticule. ‘This.’

‘Who is it, Ian?’ a woman’s voice called from inside the house.

‘No one, Ma,’ he called back. ‘Wait here a moment,’ he said to Selina. He shot back inside and closed the door.

He definitely didn’t want whoever was inside to know who had called. Most likely she was his mother. The minister had told her and Chrissie that Mrs Gilvry had been ill for some time. Selina walked down the short garden path to the lane. She didn’t want her presence to cause him any embarrassment. Nor did she want to be caught on his front step by one of his younger brothers.

A few moments passed before he joined her, properly dressed in his coat with a belcher knotted at his throat.

‘I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,’ he said politely.

‘Not at all.’

‘What is this about?’

The way he said ‘about’ made her toes curl in her sensible half-boots. ‘It is a surprise.’

‘A pleasant one, I hope?’

She cast him a glance from under the brim of her chip-straw bonnet. ‘I believe even you will think so.’

They walked in silence for a few minutes, towards the manse, then she turned onto a narrow lane with stone walls on either side that led around the back of the church.

Excitement bubbled up in her chest again. He had to be pleased. He could not turn down this gift of hers. Well, hers and Chrissie’s. They had plotted it all out for two days, talking and explaining, until Father had thrown his hands in the air and told them to do just as they pleased, because they were going to anyway, with or without his permission.

Chrissie had happily left to her the duty of telling the Laird of their intention.

She stopped at a gap in the wall. The track to the ancient building before them was overgrown with weeds.

‘The tithe barn?’ he said. ‘Is this your surprise?’

‘Yes.’ She picked up her pace and instead of going in by the double-wooden barn doors, she made her way to a small door at the far end, carefully avoiding thistles and stinging nettles, some of which grew as high as her shoulders. She unlocked the door and threw it wide open, revealing a dusty empty room with a counting desk and a set of wooden shelves with pigeon holes against one wall.

‘It hasn’t been used for years,’ she said.

‘A tithe of nothing is nothing,’ Ian said. ‘The vicar takes his due from the collection plate. What is it you wanted me to see?’

‘Wouldn’t this make the most perfect place to hold a school for the local children?’

His eyes widened. ‘Are you telling me the vicar agreed we could use this building for a school?’

‘The barn is on Father’s land.’ She bit her lip. She should not have mentioned who owned the land. ‘He has agreed it can be used for a school.’

He stepped inside and turned in a circle, glancing up at the roof and staring at walls, much as she had done the previous day. He swung around to face her. He didn’t look particularly pleased, but nor did he look annoyed.

‘You don’t think it would work?’ she asked, fighting her disappointment with a smile.

‘It is a fine room. We could build trestle tables, find some stools.’

‘There are funds set aside by Lady Albright for a teacher. We could send to Edinburgh. What to do you think? Will you support the idea?’ she asked. ‘The clan members won’t send their children if you speak against it.’

He stared at her. ‘Why this concern now? We don’t need your charity.’

His suspicions were like a blade sliding between her ribs. ‘Would you prefer the children to run wild, with no chance for an education?’

He stepped closer, too close, looking down at her, his eyes flaring hot. Anger, she thought. Then wasn’t so sure. The blue in his gaze was so intense, the heat so bright with his body only inches from hers, it crashed against her cool skin. Her heart banged against her ribs, the sound loud in her ears. Breathing became difficult, as if the only air in the room belonged to him.

The strangest sense that he was going to kiss her tugged at her, drawing her closer; she could swear her body was leaning into his with a wild kind of longing.

He jerked back. She could have sworn she gasped at the shock of it, yet her ears heard no sound. It was all in her imagination, the connection, the physical pull.

‘It won’t make them think any better of your father,’ he said, his voice harsher than usual, his breathing less steady than before.

She shrugged, feigning indifference to the obviously dismissive words. ‘I didn’t expect it would.’

‘Niall will teach them. Two mornings a week.’

Did this mean he supported the idea, after all? ‘He can apply to the vicar with respect to his pay.’

‘He will not require payment.’

Apparently, his pride would not permit Albright money to be spent, but he would begrudgingly accept the loan of the building.

‘Are you sure Niall would be willing to work for no pay?’

‘The children will not come to a stranger. And they need someone who speaks the Gaelic.’

‘The children would obey you.’

A small smile curved on his lips. ‘Aye.’ He brushed by her and out of the door. He stopped and looked back. ‘Thank your father for the use of the barn. I’ll have Will Gair set to making some tables and trestles. Him, your father can pay.’

No wonder he looked so pleased with himself. He had found a way for Father to right what he saw as a wrong. ‘You are welcome, Mr Gilvry.’

His cheeks flushed a little red. ‘Thank you, Lady Selina.’ He strode away.

A proud man, but even so she had managed him quite nicely. And so what if he took it upon himself to provide the teacher and charge her father

for the furniture? The children would have their schooling.

That was all that mattered. A feeling of satisfaction filled her. A sense of a job well done, despite his reaction. Perhaps the people of Dunross would recognise her father’s generosity, even if their Laird would not.

And as for thinking he was going to kiss her, well … that was all in her imagination. More likely, he had wanted to tell her to go to hell, but had put the welfare of his people ahead of his own preferences.

Two days later, a fine drizzle hung over the hilly landscape like mist. It was almost as if the clouds, having brushed against the heather-clad hills, wanted to linger. There was no thinking about setting foot out of doors, not even in the carriage, so Selina stretched out on the sofa in the drawing room with a book to while away the hours until supper.

The drawing-room door opened and Chrissie bounced in. ‘You will never guess who is here.’

Selina put down her book. ‘Who?’

‘Lieutenant Dunstan.’

Her heart took an unpleasant dive. She hadn’t expected him quite so soon. But the sooner the better, surely?

‘Is he here to see me?’

‘He is with your father in his study.’ Chrissie clasped her hands together. ‘I am sure he is here to propose.’

Good news—then why did she feel a kind of panic? She wanted this. It had been all her idea. A new beginning after her accident. ‘Did Father send for me?’

Chrissie frowned. ‘No. But I am sure he will want to see you when they have concluded their business.’

Chrissie was as anxious for the marriage as Selina was herself. She hadn’t said anything, but she and Selina had occasionally disagreed on household matters. Until Father had finally told Selina it was no longer her concern.

It had been a painful truth.

She swung her feet to the ground and set her book aside. She patted her hair and smoothed her skirts, a pomona-green muslin. ‘Should I change, do you think?’

‘You look lovely,’ Chrissie said with a smile. ‘You always do.’

‘Thank you.’ Before her accident, she had taken her appearance for granted. More recently, she had felt unsure. She took a deep breath and tried to keep her steps as even as possible.

The antechamber to the study was empty. Mr Brunelle, her father’s secretary, must be inside with her father, taking notes, recording agreements. Should she knock and go in, or wait for them to come out?

As she dithered, the door to the study opened. She pinned a smile on her face.

‘Lady Selina!’ The lieutenant sounded surprised.

She glanced at her father.

He frowned. ‘Did you want something, daughter?’

Blast. It seemed she wasn’t expected, or wanted, which meant they had not been discussing the betrothal after all. A feeling of relief swept through her, even as she realised they were waiting for some sort of explanation.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as her mind raced. ‘I heard Lieutenant Dunstan was here and came to bid him welcome.’ She hoped she didn’t sound too feeble. ‘To ask him to take tea with Lady Albright and me in the drawing room.’

Dunstan’s face lit up. ‘Very kind of you, Lady Selina, I must say. I fear I cannot take advantage on this occasion. I have urgent business in the neighbourhood and came to discuss it with your father as local magistrate.’

‘Trouble?’ she asked.

‘Selina,’ her father said in a warning tone.

‘Smugglers,’ Dunstan said at exactly the same moment.

‘Oh, my goodness, are there really such villains abroad around here?’ she said with a hand to her throat and a gasp. She gave him a glance that said in her mind he was a hero.

‘Don’t worry, Lady Selina, my regiment won’t let them escape us, I can assure you. You have nothing to fear.’ The paternalistic tone made her grit her teeth. But he was only trying to soothe the feminine nerves she had put on display and there was nothing in his manner she should resent.