Taming the Barbarian (5 page)

The surrounding woods were still after the previous night’s rain and
Fille’s
high-stepping footfalls were muffled against the damp earth. Sweet clover scented the warm air and troubles dropped away, and though Fleur wished she could ride forever, her mission lay close at hand. Yes, she would allow herself this break from paperwork, but she would not waste the day entirely, for despite the frivolous airs she displayed for her posh friends, she would not forget the years when she was hungry and alone. Security, she well knew, meant the ability to take care of one’s own finances, for without funds, she was at the mercy of others.

Off to her right, a warbler piped its afternoon song. Fleur glanced into the woods there. Deep in the verdant forest, the Nettle River wound its haphazard course. It was a lovely sight and hosted an aquatic bounty, but it was neither its pastoral beauty nor its trout that fascinated her. It was the land itself—the earth, dark with silt and heavy with nutrients—the land that undulated gently in shades of green until it fell quietly into a small quarry set amongst the ancient oaks.

Some years before Thomas’s birth, it had all belonged to the Eddings estate. Financial problems had forced its sale, but according to the records Fleur had rooted out of the old lord’s office, the stonery had once brought in a decent income. With any luck and a bit of skillful bargaining, it would do so again, for Lord Gardner, its present owner, was floundering in debt. Indeed, he had gone so far as to beg a loan in an effort to cover his mounting troubles. And Fleurette had complied. After all, it was impossible to dislike the jovial baron; but if she were to be honest, that was hardly the entire reason for her capitulation.

She had long hoped to buy the land that lay between her property and his. Hence, she had done all she could to lay friendly groundwork toward that end.

Fille’s
footfalls clattered restively onto Gardner’s drive. Horse chestnuts lined his road, obscuring the view of his estate, but in a moment the trees parted, affording a glimpse of the ancient house. Built of native rocks, it stood against a lovely backdrop of sweeping hills. A stone fence stood guard beneath the towering trees and in the front yard, a swaybacked sorrel stood with cocked hip and drooping head.

Fille
gave the aging gelding a disdainful glance, arched her neck to even more impressive heights, and pranced to a halt. Jumping from the saddle, Fleurette drew the reins over the mare’s neck and walked the short distance to a tying post. But even before she had the mare secured, an elderly servant bustled from the house.

“My lady,” he said, and bowed, stiff with old age and formality. “Shall I have a squire stable your mount or will you not be gracing us with your presence for so long a time?”

“Mr. Sitter,” she said, and smiled. Gardner’s butler had an old-world panache that Fleurette had always found appealing. ” ‘Tis good to see you again. You are feeling well, I hope.”

He nodded, and his rigidity softened slightly. “Her ladyship is most kind to ask. I am doing well.”

“And your wife, how is she?”

“Well also, and doting on the little ones whenever possible. Our Evie gave us a grandson this month past. A strapping lad he is.”

“I’m certain of it, if he’s anything like his grandfather.”

The old man blushed with guileless appreciation. “Do you wish to secure your mount and accompany me to the parlor?”

She glanced at the sorrel gelding. It lifted its bottle-shaped head and gave her a disinterested stare. Its bottom lip drooped loosely, and its toes pointed in. Had Gardner’s affairs sunk so low that he rode this poor beast? Fleur wondered. Slipping her reins through a nearby ring, she tied the mare and followed the servant. “I’ve no wish to disturb your lord if he has company.”

“A…” Mr. Sitter paused for a second, then hurried on, doing his best to cover his obvious uncertainty. “A… gentleman arrived some time ago. But I am certain my lord will wish to know of your presence. Please, if you will follow me.”

With one last glance at the horses, Fleur strode up the walkway and into the house. The parlor was small but sunny and welcoming. She seated herself in a brightly patterned armchair as the butler hustled off for refreshments.

“Lady Glendowne.” Lord Gardner hurried in not a full minute later. He was a short, squat gentleman with a bulbous nose, watery eyes, and a smile like a mischievous cherub. He employed it now with honest good mirth. “Aren’t you a picture?”

She rose to her feet and extended her hands. He took them in his own and kissed her cheek.

“Lord Gardner. You look well.”

“Ach,” he said, and eyed her askance.

She could smell the whisky on his breath. ‘Twas a funny thing, some men were mean whether they were drunk or sober, and some only got merrier when deep in their cups.

“You’re full of flattery as usual,” he said. “When Sitter came to announce a visitor I knew it was you straightaway. Blushing like a debutante, he was.”

She laughed. “You’d best be good to him,” she said, “for I have every intention of stealing him away from you.”

“Aye, well, he couldn’t go to a kinder lady. But what can I do for you this day? I doubt you’ve come to snatch my butler from under my nose.”

“Actually, that is a secondary mission,” she said, and cleared her throat. Now that it came to it, she felt somewhat edgy. But business did that to her. Like a she wolf over a fresh kill, Lucy had once said. Fleurette had never particularly cared for the analogy. “I’ve come—”

“Ahh, there you are, Mrs. Edward,” Gardner said, as an elderly woman hobbled into the room with a tray. “Please, my lady, sit. Have a sip of tea and a sandwich. Cook’s cucumbers are the envy of all England.”

“Oh, no. Thank you. I’ve come on a bit of business as it were.”

“A biscuit then?” he asked.

“No. Thank you.” Fleur waited for the elder servant to depart, then launched back into business. “I know you’ve had… Well, finances have been difficult for everyone of late, have they not? What with the king’s current ailments.” And the Prince Regent, of course, who was an extravagant ninny, though she did not say so aloud.

Gardner took a tiny triangular sandwich between his thumb and forefinger and downed it in one bite. “Times are hard, and that’s the truth of it,” he said, seeming unperturbed by her bluntness.

“Yes, well,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I was hoping I might make them a bit easier. For you at least.”

He lifted a cup from the tray and swallowed noisily. “That is ever so kind of you, my lady,” he said. “But things have been going along well enough, considering. Why just today—”

“I’m speaking of the woods that adjoins our property,” she interrupted smoothly.

He had reached for a second sandwich, but stopped his hand halfway to the tray. “The woods?”

“Yes.” She said, breath held as she watched him. “I thought you might wish to sell it.”

“The woods with the quarry?” he asked, hobbling his cup back onto its saucer.

She nodded. “As you know, it belonged to my husband’s family some years back.”

“Yes indeed. Father was more than happy to buy it when old Maynard made those bad investments years ago and… Well,” he said, blushing slightly at his lack of diplomacy, “you’ve turned things about nicely for yourself since then.”

She gave him a modest smile for the compliment. “It was Thomas’s efforts that made it possible, really, and yet he didn’t live to harvest the fruit of his well-laid plans. He had always hoped to restore Briarburn to its former holdings. And now that Eddings Carriages is doing well, I was hoping to do just that.”

“Yes, certainly.” He took his second sandwich, but held it in his hand as if forgotten. “But well…” He chuckled and rubbed his neck with his free hand. ” ‘Tis a funny thing, to be sure.”

“What?” she demanded, then smoothed her voice and smiled. “What is funny, Lord Gardner?”

“Well, I just now…” He chuckled as if embarrassed. “I just today had a visitor. We had a bit of a chat about…” He cleared his throat, looking sheepish and flitting his gaze to her and away. “Well about a good many things, truth to tell. It seems he appreciates a fine horse, though his own mount was far and away the sorriest—”

“Lord Gardner,” she interrupted, patience fraying as she preened a smile. “What has this to do with my—”

“I got another offer on that land.”

“Another offer?” she snapped. “From whom?”

“As I said, ‘tis a funny thing.” He looked anxious now, anxious and fidgety. “I was out for a gallop with the hounds. Fritzy whelped just last week. As handsome a litter as ever I’ve seen. Six bitches and the same number of dogs. Can you believe it? Twelve all told and—”

“Lord Gardner,” she prodded, careful to smile through her gritted teeth, “about the land.”

“Ahh, yes, well, the land.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, just this morning a gentleman comes to visit. Rides up through the chestnuts on the saddest-looking gelding I’ve seen in some time. Long in the tooth and low in the back if you take my meaning. The horse that is, not the rider. As for that gentleman, I’d not met him before, or his ilk, I’ll wager. Big man, he was. Twice my size. And he was dressed peculiar. Truth to tell he looked as if he hadn’t two pence to rub together, but—”

“Who was he?” Fleur rasped, but before the baron spoke, a figure loomed in the doorway.

” ‘Tis meself,” rumbled a voice.

Fleurette turned with a start and stumbled backward, for not five feet away stood the towering Scot from Madame Gravier’s front yard. “What are you doing here?” she breathed.

Sometime during the night she had convinced herself that the irritating Scotsman had not been as large as she remembered. She had been entirely wrong.

“I’ve a need for the wee quarry,” he said. “And the land what surrounds it.”

She breathed a shocked hiss and turned toward Lord Gardner with a start. But the baron giggled and shrugged as if too embarrassed to speak. She jerked back toward the Highlander.

“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped, then drew a slow breath and gave him a well-groomed smile. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr…” She waited in silence… as did he, showing a detestable lack of good manners and no embarrassment whatsoever. From what murky depths had he slithered?

“Hiltsglen,” Gardner supplied nervously. “Mr. Killian Hiltsglen, wasn’t it? Truth to tell, Mr… Hiltsglen…” He giggled again, then cleared his throat and seemed to go rather pale. “I thought you had ridden off.”

“As I see it…” The Scot didn’t turn toward the baron, but kept his gaze steady on Fleurette. His hair was long and dark. Tied in a queue behind his muscular neck, it boasted a single narrow braid behind his left ear. A scar slanted through his right eyebrow and across the bridge of his nose at an obtuse angle. “Ye’ve na need for more land, lass,” he rumbled.

She huffed in outrage, then lowered her brows and glared at him. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr… Hiltsglen, I don’t believe it is for you to decide what my needs might be.”

He remained silent for a moment. His brows were low and dark, shadowing his narrowed eyes, ” ‘Tis just yerself ye look after. Ye’ve no bairns to care for, have ye?”

“Bairns?” she blustered, wondering madly just what Lord Gardner had said about her.

“Wee ones,” he explained, and let his gaze drop to her breasts. They were well covered that morning by her deep blue riding jacket and singularly humble in their unembellished state. “Ye are nursing na bairns.”

For a moment she was actually speechless, then, “That is hardly any of your—”

“Why are ye na wed?” he asked. “Ye are na uncomely.”

“I—You—” She closed her mouth with a snap and turned toward their host, pointedly ignoring the barbarian who studied her like a prize Thoroughbred. “Lord Gardner…” She would have liked to smile, but she was afraid she was incapable of such an extraordinary feat at that precise moment. “I should like to purchase your land for ten thousand pounds.”

“Ten thousand!” he breathed. “That is most generous of you, my lady, but I—”

“Payable into your private account this very day.”

“I…” Gardner snapped his gaze from one to the other, his face as red as an autumn apple. “I’m afraid, Mr. Hiltsglen here offered…” He swallowed. “More.”

“More!” she rasped.

“My apologies, my lady. I—”

“Then I shall give you the same plus a hundred guineas.”

The baron opened his mouth like a gasping trout.

“I shall match her offer,” said the Scot, not turning toward Gardner, “And vow to keep yer borders safe from brigands.”

“My borders…” The inebriated baron was breathing hard. “That’s most kind of you, I’m sure, but I hardly think—”

“I’ll give you eleven thousand pounds plus an Eddings viceroy, straight from the factory. Two horse with a curved dash and velvet seats.”

“Well I… I do love those velvet seats. They’re as soft as butter when you—”

“Ye may tek the sorrel for yer own,” the Scot rumbled.

“Your mount?” Gardner asked, blinking. “That’s really—”

“Your gelding?” Fleur huffed a laugh. “He is not worth a pile of pebbles.”

The Scotsman’s eyes glowed as he looked her up and down “Mayhap ye judge a thing too much upon its appearance, me lady,” he suggested. “And na enough upon its ability.”

“Thank you for that invaluable lesson, Mr. Hiltsglen, but I fear I do not need—”

“Sir,” he rumbled.

“What!”

“Ye may address me as Sir Killian of Hiltsglen. I am a knight, fully dubbed and spurred.”

“I don’t care if you’re the bloody king of the trolls,” she snarled, stepping up to him and raising her chin so as to meet his glare. “That woods belongs with my estate, and I’ll not see it fall into the hands of an antiquated cretin who has neither the manners nor the breeding to behave in a civilized manner when—”

“My lady! My lady,” Gardner rambled and, grabbing her arm in a gentle grasp, turned her abruptly toward the door. Pressing his other hand against the Scotsman’s endless back, he prodded the giant along ahead of them. “I do so very much appreciate your gracious offer. And yours, too, Mr. Killian Sir. ‘Twas ever so generous, but I fear I simply need a bit of time to give due consideration to the situation. Thank you ever so much,” he said, and, depositing them unceremoniously on his front stoop, closed the door behind them with a snick.