Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (20 page)

She felt as though
she
needed one of those cool cloths Sinclair had been putting on Arden’s forehead. For the mere thought of Broxburn
caused a flash of heat that centered in her womb and arced to her most private parts and the tips of her breasts. As though they were all connected by some
shared nerve.

She knew they were. Ever since those moments in the ghillie’s cottage, she’d felt echoes of the pleasure he’d caused in all the most
sensitive parts of her body.

She crossed her legs to assuage the arousal, but it was no use. Pacing did not help, either. Broxburn’s scent lingered, but whether it was only in
her mind or actually on her clothes, she did not know. Even thinking of the way his body pressed against hers brought waves of heat through her. And his
touch…

It was obvious she could not go on this way. They had to leave on the morrow. Arden just
had
to be ready to travel.

Mrs. MacRae came into the room to see if Lady Kildrum needed anything. “No, I do not think so, Mrs. MacRae,” Lucy said. “But I do have a
favor to ask.”

“Of course.”

“Would it be possible for my uncle and I to dine here tonight? In my aunt’s room?”

Mrs. MacRae smiled kindly. “Of course. I will see to it, Miss Stillwater.”

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. She’d felt tense before, but didn’t realize exactly
how
tense. But now she knew she would
not see Lord Broxburn, even by accident. She could relax.

Arden fell back asleep and Lucy went to her own room to read. She’d have loved to find some documentation on the history of Craigmuir Castle –
especially its ghost – but she was not willing to risk running into Lord Broxburn to find it.

She settled on the Lathom book she’d started the night of the accident. That way, she had no need to leave the safe haven of her own room. Not unless
Arden needed her.

 Ian had one of the grooms saddle his horse for a ride out to Haddington. It was clear that he could not stay at the castle, else he would be tempted
to seek out Lucy.

He circled around Craigmuir Way and headed out to Haddington. The beautiful afternoon had turned dreary, and heavy clouds threatened rain. He did not mind
– the weather matched his mood perfectly.

He had a great deal to think about, from his family’s fortunes, to the duke’s reputation. His father would soon be known as the Drunken Duke,
just as Ian was likely to become known one day as the Pauper Duke.

Rain started to fall just as he handed his horse off to a groom and entered Haddington’s public house. He took a glass of whiskey from Bruce
Drummond, the proprietor of the house, and sat down at a vacant table near the back. He could see the entire place from where he sat, though he saw nothing
of interest.

He finished his glass and caught the eye of the barman, who brought him another. And another. Ian figured he’d have stopped at two, or even three, if
Malcolm had been there, and now he feared he was becoming a drunken sot like his father.

The room tilted and swayed, and he realized he should have stopped at two drinks. He was unaccustomed to more. He noticed Nessa MacClure descending the
staircase to his right, pushing her blond hair back into her cap as she stepped down. Her cheeks were rosy and she smiled broadly when she saw him.
“M’Laird!”

“Good afternoon.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded slurred.

She put her hands on his table and leaned forward, displaying the bounty barely held back beneath her blouse. “Ye look to be in need of…
something
, Laird.”

“Aye. You are right about that.” He looked outside the window and saw that the rain was coming down in torrents. It was just as bad as the day
the Kildrum carriage had overturned, and he knew he was not going to ride back to Broxburn in it. Besides, he was more than likely to fall off his horse in
his present state. He would take a room. He’d told Lucy he’d be away, and he meant to be.

“I can see to it for ye, Laird,” she said suggestively.

“Tell Mr. Drummond I wish to stay the night,” Ian said. “I’ll have the room at the top of the stairs.”

“Of course!”

“And supper. But later.”

“Aye, m’laird!” She was smiling so broadly, Ian thought her face might just split. But then he realized he was seeing two mouths. And
four sets of eyes. There were two of her as she walked away.

He wondered how much whiskey he’d had. Obviously too much. The room was starting to move.

She exchanged a few words with Drummond, then left the room with a smile tossed in Ian’s direction.

Drummond walked over to Ian’s table and handed him a key. “The room ye want is available, Laird.”

“Thank you very much.”

Ian stood, and Drummond caught his arm to steady him. “I’ll just give you a hand upstairs, then. Eh?”

Even in his drunken state, Ian realized it would be very bad for Drummond’s business if a marquess fell down the steps. No one wanted the local
gentry being humiliated in his establishment. So Drummond helped him up the stairs and into the bedroom where Ian fell onto the bed and into a deep sleep.

He did not awaken until much later, to a knock at the door. It was full dark outside, and the rain was pelting his windows sideways.

He groaned and passed out again.

After supper, Lucy fell asleep while reading. It was quite dark and storming violently when she awoke. She did not know how late it was, but when she
looked out in the corridor outside her room, all was quiet. One wall sconce was lit, but everything else was in shadows.

She realized it must be quite late.

She peeked inside her aunt’s bedroom and saw that Arden and Archie were sound asleep, with Miles sitting near the fireplace, dozing. Neither Sinclair
nor Aileen was about. Lucy did not know how she was going to get out of her stays and prepare for bed.

She returned to her own room and reached awkwardly behind her to unfasten the buttons of her gown. It was never going to work. She could only reach a few
of the buttons, and even if…

The air around her suddenly chilled her skin. She stopped trying to undress and looked around her. The familiar wispy shape of Béatrice stood by the
door, beckoning her.

“What do you want of me?” Lucy asked quietly.

The ghost disappeared through the door. It took Lucy less than a second to open the door and follow her out. The path was the same as before, down the
steps and through the passageways that led to the library. Lucy had no fear of running into Lord Broxburn, because Mrs. MacRae had mentioned he’d
gone away and was unlikely to return before the morn.

She stifled a sigh when she realized the irony of being more fearful of seeing Broxburn than she was of the ghost.

She opened the library door and fond Béatrice inside, waiting. There was a vague glow emanating from the spirit but it did little to illuminate the
room. “Do you mind if I light a lamp?”

Béatrice opened her hand and gestured toward the desk. Lucy did not hesitate to add light to the room. When she turned back to the ghost, its details
still were not clear, mainly because it hovered near the ceiling in front of a shelf of ancient books.

Surely Béatrice had not led her there so that Lucy could watch her float in the air.

“You wish to show me something?”

The specter nodded her head once and turned toward the shelf.

Lucy saw a ladder in the corner and carried it to the place where the ghost’s attention was fixed. She climbed to the top, close enough to be eye to
eye with Béatrice. The spirit seemed pleased. She indicated that Lucy should remove an old, leather-bound tome.

Lucy carried it down and placed it on the desk, opening it carefully. She could tell the book was centuries old – an illuminated text, in fact. She
could hardly believe her find. Was this what Béatrice had wanted her to see? Lucy looked up, but found that the ghost wanted her to return.

Reluctantly, Lucy left the book on the desk and climbed back up. She took down the next book, along with another three, just as Béatrice indicated.
When there was a large opening in the shelf, Béatrice slid her hand inside and then took it out. She gave Lucy a nod to show she was to do the same.

It was dark up there and Lucy was reticent to put her hand into the space. But she did so, and came up against a wall. Sliding her hands across the cool
surface, she discovered a metal loop embedded in the wood. She lifted it and pulled it, opening a passage in the wood behind the shelf.

“Oh, dear.” She looked at the ghost, who nodded again, smiling.

Lucy reached a hand into the deeper space and felt cold, hard metal. She gripped it with one hand, but it was heavy. Using both hands, she managed to pull
it onto the shelf. When she did, the light seemed to become stronger. She felt around for a latch of some sort, and found it on its side. Rather than
opening it while standing at the top of a ladder in near darkness, she lifted the box and carried it down to the desk. There, she figured out how to open
it.

Ian awoke in the dark. If he was not mistaken, his bed dipped to one side.

He turned over and only then realized he was still partially dressed. His boots were off, and so was his coat. But that was all.

“Ah, Laird – ye’re awake.”

“Not exactly,” he replied, propping himself up on one arm. The room did not spin any more, but his head ached. Whiskey did that to him when he
had more than two. He couldn’t quite remember exactly how many he’d had.

It was still raining, but there was a bit of light coming in through the window. So he could see Nessa in the bed beside him, wearing naught but a thin
shift that she’d pulled down to her waist. She placed and hand on his knee, and ever so gently slid it upward.

Gesu, it had been a long time since he’d sunk into a woman and slaked his need
. Ian reacted predictably, his body tensing and growing hard under her ministrations. She leaned forward and touched her mouth to his, shoving her tongue
deep inside.

Ian groaned and lay back. Nessa opened his shirt and helped him pull it over his head. Then he felt the soft bounty of her breasts on his bare chest, and
her hands doing their magic down below. His thoughts dwindled to naught as she plied her feminine wiles.

Her mouth tasted…
Gesu
, it tasted worse than his. And her body felt like it was smothering him. He shifted positions until she lay beneath
him, though that did not deter her ardor.

Ian practically flew off the bed.

“Laird?”

He found his shirt on the floor and yanked it over his head. “Not tonight, Nessa.” Not any night, actually. He knew who he wanted and Nessa was
not the one. “Leave me.”

“But, m’laird—”

“Go.”

She collected items of clothing as she left and Ian closed the door behind her. He shoved his fingers though his hair and immediately regretted it as
shards of pain shot through his head. He wondered how his father stood it – the drunkenness and its aftermath. Ian’s little foray into
Haddington hadn’t solved anything. In fact, it had made matters worse. For now he knew for certain that he would not be satisfied by a mindless romp
in bed with a stranger. Because he’d tasted Lucy Stillwater’s kiss and felt the powerful stirring of something more than mere lust.

He was reluctant to define it – especially since Lucy did not appear to feel the same. She’d responded to him, certainly, but it was quite
unlikely she’d understood the magnitude of his arousal, or even recognized the climax she’d experienced in the cottage. She might have been
appalled by it, for she was in love with a man she’d left behind. Ian wondered what Parris would think of his lady love sharing intimacies with
another.

Ian’s head throbbed. He lay back on the bed and fell into a restless sleep, only waking at the sound of a knock at his door. This time, it was well
past daybreak.

“Go away, Nessie.”

“’Tis Drummond, m’laird. I brought ye tea and bannnocks.”

Ian’s stomach roiled at the idea of eating, but he admitted the man and a young boy, who carried a pitcher of fresh water for washing, and a comb for
Ian’s hair.

“Will you be wantin’ to stay another night, Laird? I can have—”

“No, no, Drummond,” Ian replied, wincing at a stabbing pain just above his eye. “I shall be leaving as soon as my horse can be saddled.
I’ve been away too long as it is.”

He could not believe he’d stayed away as long as he had. It hadn’t been his intention when he’d arrived in the village, not with his
father so ill.

The groom brought his horse around and Ian headed home. He would have to stay clear of Lucy and not only for her peace of mind. He knew if they had another
late night encounter, he feared he would take her to bed and damn the consequences.

Marriage.

To a woman who yearned for another man. A woman who did not know he was a bastard in both the legal and moral sense. For no upstanding fellow would
intentionally seduce an innocent – the way his father had done with the Irish maid. That was what Ian had decided to believe, even though he knew
there were plenty of women like Nessie MacClure who believed they could improve their lot with a liaison with a wealthy laird.

Though he’d always thought of his father as a fair man, he preferred to think of the woman who’d borne him less like Nessie MacClure, and more
like Lucy Stillwater – a virtuous lass who’d lapsed due to a mutual, uncontrolled attraction.

A short time later, Ian rode through Craigmuir’s gatehouse and found the Kildrum carriage being packed and readied for departure. Lockhart stood in
the doorway supervising the servants.

Ian dismounted and approached the butler. “Lady Kildrum is better, then?”

Lockhart’s expression ran contrary to his words. Perhaps he did not believe the aunt was ready to go. “Aye, my lord. They plan to leave
shortly.”

“Who travels with them?” Ian wanted to be sure they had an adequate escort for the drive up to Edinburgh.