The Highlander's Yuletide Love (19 page)

She drew back. “No,
we can’t do this here. Francis or Isobel might return, or they may see my
parents and tell them to come here to look at the finished portrait.”

Ranulf groaned
in protest, but he lifted his head, and used his grip on her ribs to put her
back down on the floor. Sophy swayed a moment in his hold and then stepped back
from him, looking at him with wide eyes.

As though he
could not resist her Ranulf closed the distance between them, grasping her
waist and drawing her close once again.

“Sophy, you
cannot leave here next week,” he whispered into her ear. “Please stay.”

“I—I don’t know,”
she murmured, dazed. “I did not mean this to happen.”

“But it did. I,
for one, am very pleased.” Ranulf kissed the hollow of her throat. “Are you?”

Sophy didn’t
respond, and Ranulf chuckled. “Answer me, Sophy, or I’ll have to kiss you until
you’re breathless.”

She laughed
softly. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“So you are
pleased.” Ranulf took her face in his hands and kissed her again, a dark,
dangerous kiss that she felt she might never emerge from. When he finally
raised his head, she gave a little whimper and pulled him closer.

“Very pleased,
I’d say.” Ranulf drew her into his arms, cradling her head on his chest. “Darling,
think about what I’ve said. The party is tomorrow, and your family means to
return to Glencairn soon after. Think what that means. We will no longer have
these moments together. I think we would both miss them, don’t you?”

Sophy nodded slightly,
unwilling to say anything.

“You don’t have
to leave with them,” said Ranulf. “Promise me you’ll think on it.”

“I promise,”
Sophy whispered.

Sophy wafted
down the stairs of Spaethness Castle, a dreamy smile on her lips. She wore a
dress of white satin sheathed in a white silk gauze overlay ornamented with
celestial blue leaves of flossed silk. The hem and puffed sleeves were trimmed
with ruffles of silk net, looped up by blue silk bows, and silk flowers of the
same shade were interlaced among her glossy curls. Her family and Ranulf
awaited her, and she looked down to see a look of frank admiration on his face.
She colored slightly as his eyes lingered on the neckline of her gown, and then
she continued down the stairs to join them.

“Don’t you look
lovely, child,” said Harriet approvingly.

Sophy opened her
mouth to quibble with the use of the word child, but decided it would do little
good. Harriet, she realized, would always think her a girl. She looked up and,
catching Ranulf’s eye, detected a smile there. He stepped forward and took her
hand, raising it lightly to his lips.

“Not a child at
all,” he said. “Don’t you agree, Lady Exencour?”

Isobel gave him
a warning glance. “Indeed, we all think of Sophy as young, but perhaps child is
no longer the correct word for her.”

Douglas scowled.
“She looks just like Sophy to me,” he said.

Sophy allowed
her hand to rest in Ranulf’s a moment longer, then stepped forward. “It is
rather silly, isn’t it?” she said. “I suppose it is simply the dress, and the
jewelry, and Wallis put my hair up in a new style. I imagine I will always be a
youngster to all of you.”

“Now you are
implying we are old!” said Isobel gaily. “Come, let us go into the drawing room
and cease to contemplate anyone’s age.”

They turned into
the drawing room, Francis escorting Isobel and Glencairn his wife. Ranulf
offered Sophy his arm and she took it with a smiling glance. She could feel the
muscles under the fine cloth of his coat, and allowed her thoughts to wander to
the last time he had held her in his arms. A flash of excitement shot through
her, as she pondered whether it might be possible to get him alone in the
garden that evening.

“You look as
though you are contemplating mischief,” said Ranulf under his breath.

“Perhaps I am,”
she murmured. They shared a significant look.

“Later,” he said
softly, and she felt her body react strongly to the single word.

Once in the
drawing room, Sophy found herself chatting with her family as Ranulf fetched
her lemonade. Soon the guests began to arrive and the room filled with curious
locals, all eager to meet the laird’s guests. The introductions left Sophy’s
head in a whirl, and before she knew it, she was whisked into the dance by the
son a neighboring landowner.

She smiled on
her partner, though she kept one eye on Ranulf, noting that he had led out
Harriet, who seemed delighted. The next hour passed in a whirl, as she danced
with gentleman after gentleman, only a few of whose names she remembered. She
eventually collapsed onto a settee, and, declining the pleas of the local
curate that she join him for a quadrille, sat contentedly sipping a claret cup.
She looked up as a shadow fell over her, and found herself gazing into Ranulf’s
smiling face.

“You seem to be
enjoying yourself,” he said.

“It’s wonderful,”
she breathed. “Spaethness seems to be a happy place.”

“I never thought
of it so; I’ve considered it rather forbidding, though beautiful. You’ve
brought a new light to it, Sophy.”

She shook her
head. “It is not me. It has always had that quality. It just took guests and
friendship to bring it out.”

“I think a great
deal of it is you.” Ranulf sat down next to her and looked around the room, lit
with dozens of candles and filled with music and laughter. “This would not have
happened without your presence.”

“But my parents,
and the Exencours—” began Sophy.

“I did it to
amuse you.” Ranulf looked surprised. “Everything I do these days seems to be
for you.”

Sophy colored
slightly. “I find myself doing things for you as well,” she murmured.

“I am grateful
for that.” Ranulf looked about. “I’d kiss you if I thought I could do so
without shocking everyone. Don’t look so beguiling, or I might go ahead anyway.”

 Sophy turned
pinker, and Ranulf grinned. “Will you meet me in the garden later?”

“I’d like that
very much.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “If you promise to
reward me.”

“I promise.” He
took her hand briefly, pressing it slightly. “Now, if you don’t mind, there is
someone who very much wishes to meet you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.” Ranulf
drew her to her feet and led her across the room. In a high backed chair by the
fire, set well away from the swirl of dancers was a very old gentleman. His
pure white hair was still thick and full, and while he was hunched forward, she
could tell he had once been tall and athletic. She looked up at Ranulf
inquiringly.

“Lady Sophia
Learmouth, I’d like to present my father, the Laird of Spaethness,” said Ranulf
gently.

The older
gentleman looked up, his eyes, dark like Ranulf’s, still sharp with intelligence.
“So this is Lady Sophia, is it?” he demanded. He waved a hand at his son. “Away
with you. I know how to talk to a young woman.”

“Then you are a
better man than I,” said Ranulf with a smile. He turned to Sophy. “Don’t let
him frighten you. His bark is worse than his bite. I’ll fetch you in a bit,” he
whispered, and rejoined the crowd.

“Sit, sit,” said
the laird impatiently, indicating the chair next to him.

Sophy perched on
the edge of it, faintly apprehensive. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said
formally.

“I doubt it.” The
old man gave her a piercing stare. “Talking nonsense socially has never been my
strong suit.”

“Then you are
very much like your son,” replied Sophy promptly.

He gave a snort.
“At least you’re not a mealy mouthed thing like so many of your generation.”

“I presume that
is meant to be a compliment?”

He laughed
reluctantly. “I suppose it is.” He watched her for a moment, and seemed pleased
when she did not rush into speech. “Tell me, Lady Sophia, what do you think of
Spaethness?”

“It’s beautiful,”
she said, her sincerity apparent. “It’s not only the castle, which is lovely
beyond words—I could spend weeks exploring it and not know every corner of
it—but the land itself is so gorgeous. The lochs, and the trees, and hills
rolling away before you….” Her voice trailed off. “It is very hard to describe.”

“Hence the
painting, I gather?”

“You know that I
paint?”

There’s very
little I don’t know, Lady Sophia. My body might be failing me, but my mind’s as
sharp as ever.”

“I can see that.”

The old man
folded his hands and stared at her. “So, you mean to be the next Lady of
Spaethness.”

Sophy jumped. “What?
Why would you think that?” she demanded.

“I’m not dead
yet, and the servants talk. I know what you and my boy have been up to.” He
nodded, satisfied, as she turned slightly pale. “Not that I care, my girl. You
may do as you choose. Indeed, the women in my day had a great deal more bottom
than they seem to have today, and made it known where their preferences lay. But
he’ll be asking you to marry him, or he’s no gentleman.”

“I have no idea
what you may have been told, but I do not mean to marry your son,” said Sophy
firmly. “Indeed, I have no intention of marrying at all.”

“Nonsense. You’re
a gently bred female. You’ll marry—they all do, unless they’re ugly or foolish.”

“Your son does
not wish to marry,” persisted Sophy. “Or, if he does, he prefers a woman who
will give him no trouble.”

“Do you think
you will cause trouble?”

“I have no doubt
at all that I would.”

The laird
cackled, seemingly pleased by this statement. “You’ll be welcome here at
Spaethness, my girl. You’ll give my son something to keep him occupied. It gets
lonely up here, especially in the winter. Lord knows my wife wasn’t a cozy
armful, and my deceased son’s bride was like a white mouse, all big nervous
eyes and hand wringing. They never seemed to care much for each other and she
ran back to her mother as soon as he died. But you—you might have the gumption
to take on Ranulf.”

Sophy smiled at
his enthusiasm. “Thank you for your kind words, sir—though I am not sure that
you mean them to be kindly—but I have no intention of becoming your
daughter-in-law.”

“Don’t argue
with me, girl.” The laird clutched the arms of his chair with his bony hands. “I
came down here tonight solely to meet you. I’ve kept to my room since your
arrival, as I’ve no stomach or stamina for visitors, but when my valet told me
that my son seemed to be heading for the altar with Glencairn’s daughter, I
needed a look. I think you’ll do very well. Your family’s not from the
Highlands, and I’m not all that fond of those from the border country, but you
seem to be just the thing.”

“Then it would
be best if your son married another Highlander,” said Sophy pertly. “I would
not wish to sully the bloodline.”

“Ha! Very good,
very good indeed.” He grinned. “Don’t think you’ll dissuade me, child. I could
see when you came over here how you feel about my son. The two of you appear
quite taken with each other.”

Sophy shook her
head. “I will not argue with you, sir. You are pleased to think that this
marriage will occur, but I must encourage you to abandon such a notion. I mean
to return with my family soon to Glencairn.”

“We’ll see.” The
laird leaned back in his chair.

There was a
pause. “Did Ranulf tell you that he means to marry me?” asked Sophy finally,
unable to conceal her curiosity.

“He didn’t have
to. I can see when two people can’t keep their hands off each other. Don’t
argue with me,” he continued, as she appeared about to reply. “I won’t believe
your denials.”

“Then I suppose
there is no point in my trying to convince you otherwise.”

“None at all.” The
laird watched her as she sat quietly, saying nothing. “You don’t seem to be
frightened of me.”

“No, should I
be?”

“Most of the
folk around here are.”

“Of course, they
think of you as their laird,” replied Sophy. “I am a newcomer, and owe you no
debt. Truth to tell, you remind me a bit of my father—he has formed the habit
of autocracy from long indulgence, but is a kind man underneath it. None of us
fear him, though we love and respect him. Besides, I can see how very much you
care for your son, and that makes me think well of you.”

“Bah! He’s spent
years from home and has scarcely paid me any attention. Now he returns, waiting
to take my place. Why should I care for him?”

Sophy smiled
gently. “You are very proud of him. He made his own way in the world because he
was the younger son, but I’m sure he has always been brave and thoughtful, as
he is now. It pains him to think he will have to replace you.”

“You seem to know
a great deal about my son!”

“You’re the one
who told me that you know what we’ve been up to,” Sophy pointed out. “Why would
I not know him well?”

The laird glared
at her a moment, but then his gaze softened. “I see that you will be a very
good wife to him.”

She said
nothing, but only shook her head. She could see Ranulf approaching and stood as
he did so. He took her hand in his.

“That’s a fine
girl you have there,” snapped the old man. “A bit too pert my taste, but she’s
well enough.”

Ranulf smiled
down at Sophy. “She’s certainly more than well enough,” he said. “Come, I
believe I have this dance.” He looked at this father. “You seem fatigued. Would
you care to return to your room?”

The laird closed
his eyes. “Aye, I should go. Not because I’m tired, mind you, but because this
group of nitwits is boring me to tears.”

“Of course.” Ranulf
signaled to a servant to come help his father, and, after a few murmured words
with his parent, he took Sophy’s arm and led her back to the main part of the
room.