Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (14 page)

“So she is basically a…princess.” Alice hesitated. She did not want to use the words “haughty” and “imperious” when she had not yet met Isobel, but was afraid the descriptions might apply. Instead she said, “Please go on.”

“Yes. And she was our firstborn. Naturally everyone in the clan was over the moon about her. So she’s grown up a little spoiled.”

“Och, just a mite.” Fenella sat and stirred her tea.

Feeling her way, Alice asked, “When asked to perform an unpleasant task, what does she do?”

“She can produce any variety of responses. She can disappear most cleverly, leaving the rest of us to search the castle and the lands—”

Alice raised a brow.

“Yes, she often takes off with one of the horses, usually one she has been forbidden to ride. Or she may take it in her head to explore the old keep which is, as I said, very dangerous. When she is especially angry, she may still cry and stamp her foot.”

“Tantrums.” Inside, Alice was quaking. She had no idea what to do with an angry little princess. “What would your advice be?”

“Find me.” Lydia’s answer was swift. “Or Kier. As far as Isobel is concerned, the sun rises and sets on her father. Her Uncle Dugald too, for that matter.”

“So she gets along with men better than women.” Alice had previously noted the phenomenon. “Well, I cannot change my gender, nor do I wish to. But I would like to teach Isobel without having to depend upon you or milaird. I’m sure you both must be busy—”

“Don’t hesitate.” Lydia set her hand on Alice’s knee, startling her. But milady’s eyes were serious. “Yes, our other duties are important, but the children are paramount. Because we are the laird’s family, you understand? Isobel and Ranald hold the future of two clans, not just one, in their hands.”

Footsteps thumped along the floor and two children rushed in, black hair tangled, clothes muddy, voices raised. The boy shouted, “Mummy! Isobel—”

“Tattle-tale!” The girl sneered.

“Am not!“

“Are
too
!”

Lady Lydia rose and clapped her hands once, twice, thrice. The children immediately fell silent. “They know that more than three claps means a whipping,” she told Alice. “What is it you must tell me, Ranald?” she asked the boy.

He looked up at her, then down, and scuffed his battered shoe along a crack in the floor, shooting a resentful sideways glare at his sister. Along with the Kilburn trademarks of dark hair and fair skin, he bore a red mark on his cheek and battered knuckles.

Even at age eleven, Isobel Kilburn was one of the most striking girls Alice had laid eyes upon. Long hair, black as midnight, fell tangled and curly to her waist, having pulled free from her braid. Alice wondered if that pale skin’s perfection would survive adolescence. Snapping black eyes and a strong chin told of a fierce temper.

Broken, dirty fingernails and trews torn at the knee said that this tomboy needed taming. Alice was certain she was not equal to the task, but decided she’d settle for an hour or two daily of Isobel’s unbroken attention to lessons.

“Ranald, I asked you a question. Or Isobel, would you prefer to tell me Ranald’s news?” Lady Lydia stood, her expression stern.

“Yes, ma’am.” Isobel’s voice was firm but her nervousness was betrayed by twitching fingers clutching the hem of her blouse. “I, er, took out Cloud.”

“I see.” Milady remained calm while Fenella gasped and Alice waited. She guessed that Cloud was not Isobel’s usual mount.

“It was
fine
! I got up early and took him to the standing stones. I would have got away with it but
he
saw me return.” She flung a scornful glance at her brother. “And naturally he had to tell
everyone
.”

“And?” Lady Lydia tapped an elegantly shod toe.

“We, umm…” Isobel’s head drooped and her voice lowered, so Alice hadn’t the slightest notion of what she’d said.

“What?”

“We
fought
!” Isobel’s head jerked up and she glared at her mother.

“Who started it?”

“
He
did!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!
You
tried to pull me off Cloud.”

“You werenae s’posed to be on Cloud!”

“Does it really matter who threw the first punch?” Alice asked. “Surely each will accuse the other, and if no one else saw…”

“You’re right,” Lydia said. “It doesn’t matter who started it. You’ll both be punished.”

“Who are
you
?” Isobel demanded, frowning at Alice.

“Manners, Isobel! This is Mistress Alice.” Lydia hesitated briefly, then said, “She’s handfasted with your Uncle Dugald, and she’s to be your governess.”

Both children turned wide, curious gazes on her. Isobel was the first to recover her wits. “Aren’t you our auntie as well as our governess?”

Alice was dazed. “Well, yes, I suppose I am.”

“Good morrow, Auntie Alice.” Isobel did not curtsey but continued to eye Alice with suspicion.

“Good morrow, Auntie Alice.” Ranald gave a little bow.

“Thank you, Ranald.” Alice turned to Isobel. “I can’t imagine ‘tis easy to curtsey in trews. All the more reason to wear a skirt.”

Isobel snorted with clear disgust.

Alice went on. “As I understand it, we must study mathematics, Latin and French.”

The children looked alarmed.

“But we’ll start with English and drawing. P’raps a little history. Do you know the history of your clan? Of Scotland?”

“Of course,” Ranald said instantly.

“Da and Uncle Dugald tell stories of the clan
every
night after dinner,” Isobel told her.

“Very well. We can trade stories while we’re drawing. I’ll tell you what I know of history, and you can tell me what you know. If we need to consult a book, well, then we shall.”

“In the meantime,” Lady Lydia said, “both of you are confined to your rooms for the rest of the day. I do not expect to see either of you until supper, when you will appear in the Great Hall, bathed and wearing clean clothes.”

The children disappeared and Alice asked, “Will they obey?”

Lydia pressed her lips together. “I expect so. In general they understand when they’re stepping too close to the line, so to speak. Even Isobel. In the meantime, let’s get you settled into Dugald’s rooms. Fenella, please ask Grizel to help Alice today. She can show her around, help her to get her things unpacked and so on.”

Lydia smiled at Alice, who understood she’d been given her schedule for the day. She rose and accompanied Fenella to the next tower over—the Garrison Tower, if Alice remembered correctly. On the way, she noticed that guardsmen were already carrying her things upstairs. To Dugald’s room, she imagined—now her room also.

The thought gave her an excited little thrill. Other than her father, who really didn’t count, she had never shared close quarters with a man and had never expected to do so.

In the Garrison Tower, she followed Fenella through the aptly named Great Hall. A massive structure beamed with roughly hewn logs, it featured a huge fireplace that dominated one wall. A pot stood bubbling on the hearth, ready for luncheon, she guessed. A couple of men in black shirts and trews were seated at a table placed above the rest, talking quietly and drinking ale—Dugald and milaird. As she passed, he lifted his head and gave her a brief nod.

How had he known she’d entered the room?

She smiled at him and proceeded on her way. He seemed somber, she reflected as she entered the kitchen behind Fenella. Probably telling milaird about Malcolm. Her throat closed and she swallowed.

She shook off her mood. The kitchen, like everything in Kilburn Castle, seemed oversized, in keeping with the stature of its occupants. Long tables suitable for chopping, mixing and the like ran down the center of the room and along two sides, while the other walls supported ovens and hearths. Pots bubbled and haunches of meat hung over glowing coals, tended by several servants in neat, dark skirts topped with white blouses, caps and aprons. “Any clansman can eat here if they wish,” Fenella explained, “and many do, though the crofters prefer to cook in their own homes. And we feed the guards, the servants and the family.” She smiled at Alice. “There’s generally a snack to be had should you or the children be hungry.”

“And they often are, I would think,” Alice said.

“Yes, they be growing faster and faster. Grizel!”

A thin blonde woman detached herself from a trio scaling fish. Drying her hands on her apron, she approached. She had high cheekbones, a sharp nose and watery, protuberant eyes, in marked contrast to the Kilburns and even Fenella, who was small, round and ruddy, with white overtaking the few auburn curls that peeked from beneath her ruffled cap.

“This be Mistress Alice, wife to Dugald and the bairns’ new governess,” Fenella told her.

“Wife?” Grizel’s eyes widened even more. Was her surprise tinged with jealousy?

“Yes,” Alice said calmly. “We handfasted on our journey. It seemed appropriate.”

“Mistress Alice arrived this morn and needs help learning her way around. Her luggage should be up in their room by now. Please show her about and help her to get settled in.”

“Am I to be her maid?” Grizel asked Fenella.

Alice noticed that Grizel hadn’t addressed her directly. “I have no need of a maid,” she said swiftly. “I’ve always got along well without one. But I will need that extra wardrobe milady mentioned.”

“Aye. Grizel, take Mistress Alice abovestairs in the Laird’s Tower to look at the stored furniture, and ask a guardsman or two to move what she wants.” Fenella turned to the pair scraping fish, who had stopped to watch the exchange. “Rose, Agnes, this be Mistress Alice, Dugald’s new wife and the bairns’ governess.”

“Welcome to Kilburn.” Rose wore the same livery as the other servants over a slender frame that bulged with a pregnancy.

“Aye.” Agnes, evidently a lass of few words, turned back to her task.

“Come, let’s get help,” Grizel said to Alice as Fenella bustled over to one of the stew pots and gave it a vigorous stir.

Alice followed Grizel out of the kitchen through a back door that led outside, into the courtyard near one of the great stone walls enclosing the bailey. “This is an extraordinary fortress,” she said. “Is that the oldest tower?” She pointed at the damaged keep.

“Aye.” Grizel scratched her chin and her eyes narrowed. “’Tis a monstrous interesting place, the auld tower. Ye might wish to explore it.”

“Lady Lydia says it is dangerous.”

Grizel shrugged. “She’s a cautious one. Bairns make a woman so.”

“Well, then. Shall we?” Alice marched across the courtyard in the direction of the old tower, but stopped when she noticed Grizel wasn’t following. She turned and raised a brow.

Grizel didn’t move, but her expression shifted and changed into something Alice couldn’t define. She returned to Grizel’s side and asked, “What?”

“Um…p’raps some other time. We’ll be expected back at the Great Hall soon for the noonday meal. Let’s go in and I’ll get a couple of the guardsmen to help with the furniture later.”

Following Grizel, Alice reentered the Garrison Tower by way of the front door. Inside, servants were readying the Great Hall for the noontime meal. Her belly gave an unladylike rumble. Involved with meeting two of her charges, she hadn’t eaten any of the little biscuits that Fenella had brought with the elevenses tea.

“I heard that,” Grizel said, pointing. “Your seat would be up there.”

Alice turned to see the same table where Dugald and milaird had been chatting when she’d passed through the room earlier. The table was set upon a dais a foot or two above the others. Milady had taken her place, with a bairn at her breast. A little boy sat on milaird’s lap. “Oh.”

Oh, my. Mother of mercy. Not only was she the governess and ought to be minding the children, but was part of the laird’s family, also. So her place was…up there. Above the salt, so to speak.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but took a deep breath, straightened her back and found an empty chair at the laird’s table beside Dugald.

He smiled at her. “How are ye getting on?”

“F-fine.”

“Do ye like me rooms?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “Though they’re a bit…stark.”

“Och, aye. After we’ve eaten we’ll explore the storerooms and bring down a few bits and pieces for ye. And ye can unpack.”

“Shouldn’t I be minding the children?” Alice glanced at the little boy, who stared at her with dark, unblinking eyes. “What’s your name, sweetling?”

“I’m Carrick,” he said with indignation. “Not sweetling. I’m not a
girl
.”

She gave a little gasp. “I beg your pardon. Should I call you Sir Carrick?”

He puffed out his little chest. “That would do.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from giggling, and Kieran said, “Nay, laddie. The only true knight here is…himself.”

“Himself?” she asked.

“One of our auld relatives,” Dugald said easily. “He’s generally abed, and ‘tis unlikely ye’ll meet.”