The Highlander's Yuletide Love (8 page)

Once Wallis left, Sophy became
completely absorbed in her work. She was delighted at the aspect presented to
her, though also slightly daunted by attempting to capture the riot of color
and the broad expanse of the sky. She gazed out over the moor for a
moment, wondering if she could capture the exact color of the heather. As
she looked, a shadow appeared on the horizon, and she narrowed her eyes slightly.
It took form, and gradually Sophy could see it was a horse and rider. Her
breath came more quickly as she slowly realized the horse was a bay, and the
rider’s figure was familiar to her. As in her dream, she began to raise a hand
to wave, but quickly stopped herself. It would not do to appear forward.

The path the horse
was taking would lead it some hundred yards in front of her, and, to her
annoyance, she felt a pang of regret. But then the rider’s head turned in her
direction, and the horse slowed slightly. She bent her head to her painting but
watched from the corner of her eye as, after a moment’s hesitation, the
horseman turned his mount and began to move in her direction. Despite herself,
a tiny smile curved Sophy’s lips.

After some moments,
she could hear the horse moving through the heather and she looked up, feigning
surprise.

“Good morning,
Colonel Stirling,” she said as calmly as though they were in a drawing
room.

“Lady Sophia.” The
colonel touched the brim of his hat. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

Sophy gazed at
him, noting the assurance with which he sat the horse, his hands holding the
reins lightly. Ranulf was dressed casually in buckskin breeches, with a
kerchief knotted negligently about his neck, but his top boots shone in the sunlight
and his dark blue riding coat fit his broad shoulders tightly.

“Are you? This
morning the moors called me. They are lovely, are they not?”

“Lovely indeed,”
answered the colonel, though his eyes were on her and not on the landscape. “You’re
a long way from Glencairn.”

“I’m reasonably
sturdy,” she said with a hint of humor. “My maid and I walked here with little
effort.”

Ranulf glanced
around. “I hesitate to inquire, but is she invisible?” 

“No, she is with
Matthew,” replied Sophy. “They will hear me if I call.”

“You comfort me,”
said the colonel. “I will not ask who Matthew is.”

Sophy gave a
reluctant laugh. “He is the footman who brought the cart up here.”

“Ah. It all falls
into place now.” Ranulf nodded. “I regret disturbing you, Lady Sophia.” His
hands tightened on the reins as he began to turn the horse.

“Don’t leave,” she
said, and immediately flushed, regretting the impulse.

The colonel turned
back toward her. “Why would you have me stay, Lady Sophia? Past experience does
not indicate that you revel in my company.”

Sophy bit her
lip. “I am sorry if you think that. Your company—well, perhaps I do not
precisely revel in it, but it is not unwelcome.”

“High praise indeed.”
Ranulf swung down from his horse in one lithe movement. Still holding the reins,
he approached Sophy, who glanced at him quickly, taking in his slender
figure, and then looked quickly back at her canvas.

“I was once rather
rude to you, I fear,” she said.

“Once?”

She chuckled. “More
than once, perhaps. But I meant the time I refused to let you see my paintings.”

“Oh, that.” Ranulf shrugged.
“It may surprise you to know, Lady Sophia, that I have some experience with the
artist’s temperament. I know that one’s passion is something to be shared, not
something others should demand to access. I was not offended at all.”

“Is that why you
changed the topic?”

“It was indeed. You
seemed reluctant, and I didn’t want to importune you.”

She hesitated. “Thank
you. I was uncomfortable, because I was sure Mama would say far too many
complimentary things about my work, and you would be obliged to agree with
her.”

“Your mother is very
proud of you, and I would be loath to contradict so kind a lady,”
said Ranulf gravely.

“Perhaps you would
like to tell me what you think of my current work,” she said frowning at her
canvas. “I fear I will not be able to capture the wildness of the scene. I do
not doubt my ability to render it truly, but the sight of the breeze rippling
through the heather, the feel of the sun on my face, the freshness of the morning
air—how do I show that?”

Ranulf came and
stood at her side and slightly behind her, gazing at her painting
intently. Sophy realized that her head just topped his shoulder, and
resisted a regrettable urge to lean back into him. She held her breath as she
waited for him to speak.

“”You have done
rather well,” he observed after a few moments. “I doubt even Mr. Constable,
whose Hay Wain you so admired, could capture this day perfectly. You
should be pleased.”

“It’s such an
extravagant sort of day, don’t you think?” Sophy gestured, trying to take
in the vastness of the scene surrounding them. “The sky is such a beautiful
shade of blue, the clouds are as white as they can be, and the sun seems to be
particularly golden.”

“You describe it quite
well,” said Ranulf after a moment. “It’s very fresh, and touching in
a way. Rather like one of Mr. Beethoven’s sonatas. And you have rendered it
even more fully than you have described it.”

Sophy eyed her
handiwork doubtfully. “I would like to do better.”

“I’m sure you shall,”
the colonel said gently. “I think with a bit more practice you will be capable
of great things.”

The two paused for a
moment in companionable silence, and then the colonel turned away. “I will
allow you to continue your work. I have interrupted you long enough.”

“It was not a
bother,” Sophy surprised herself by saying. “I appreciate your
thoughts. I feel I can trust you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll do my very
best,” he murmured.

Sophy looked at
him calculatingly. “I feel the scale of this painting is too vast. It could use
a human figure. Would you mind very much standing by that rock outcropping over
there?”

Ranulf hesitated.
“My horse—” he began, but Sophy interrupted. 

“There is a gorse
bush yonder,” she said. “Can you tether him there?”

“I suppose I
could,” said the colonel. He gazed at her a moment, bemused, but it seemed that
the appeal in her blue eyes could not be resisted. He secured his horse to the
gorse bush. “Over there?” he asked, indicating a large boulder some distance away.

“If you don’t mind,”
said Sophy brightly.

He moved over to the
rock and regarded it with some dislike. “You wish me to sit here?”

“Or lean against it,
it makes no difference to me.” Sophy dipped her brush in her paint and gazed at
him. “Could you brood for me a bit?”

“Brood?” His lips
quivered briefly, but he maintained his composure.

“Yes, like one
of Byron’s heroes. I think the moors call for severity, not levity. If you
could appear to be thoughtful, and perhaps a bit unhappy, that would be very
helpful.”

“Very well.” Ranulf folded
his arms across his chest and affected a severe countenance. “Will this do?”

Sophy picked up
her brush. “That is splendid,” she giggled. “I had no idea you could brood so
well.”

“You inspire me,” he
said solemnly.

An hour passed as Sophy
worked quickly, her eyes bright with enjoyment. Colonel Stirling watched her
from under his heavy lids, taking in her every movement. She was utterly
focused on her work, her pink lips parted slightly as she concentrated. He
stirred uneasily.

“Are you
uncomfortable?” asked Sophy, concerned.

“Not at all,” he
responded, with a glimmer of a smile. “I was wondering how long you would need
my services.”

“As long as you can
spare,” said Sophy. “Though I have sketched you into the painting. Would
you like to see it?”

“Very much,” he
replied. He unfolded his arms and walked to stand beside her. As he regarded
the canvas silently, she turned slightly and looked up into this face, her eyes
sparkling with enjoyment.

“What do you think?”
she asked eagerly.

“Very nice,” he
said. “But, as I have told you before, I am no expert.”

“You seem to be
quite knowledgeable to me,” said Sophy. “Do you know a great many
painters?”

“A few,” he answered
noncommittally.

“I think the
addition of a human figure is very helpful. It draws the eye into the scene,”
continued Sophy.

“I believe you are
right,” said the Colonel. He pulled an elegant gold-chased watch from his
pocket. “I regret that I must leave you, Lady Sophia. I am expected by
Lady Exencour at one o’clock.”

Sophy eyes widened.
“One o’clock! Gracious, what time is it?”

“It is very nearly
noon,” said the Colonel, snapping the watch shut.

“Oh no! I have lost
track of the time. I shall be late!” She looked around, but her maid was
nowhere in sight. “Wallis!” she called.

“Allow me to assist
you,” said the colonel, as Sophy began to hastily put away her
paints. She moved so quickly that she tripped over a rock hidden in the
heather, and appeared to be in danger of overbalancing. He put out a hand and
caught her about her waist as she fell, steadying her and then lifting her
almost effortlessly and placing her on her feet.

“Slowly, my dear,”
he said. “If you will allow me, I believe we can contrive to pack up your
belongings without upsetting everything.”

Sophy stilled
at the touch of his hand and looked up at him, her eyes wide. She could feel
the strength of his thighs through her thin muslin gown, and she found the
sensation unsettling. “I—I thank you. I am sorry to be so silly. It is just
that my parents will be upset if I am not home on time. We are to go
to Dargenwater Cottage—I daresay that is why you are heading back as
well.”

Ranulf smiled
down into her face, his arm still about her. “I don’t suppose we can tell them
all to go to the devil and stay here while you finish your masterpiece.”

Sophy gave a
gurgle of laughter. “Oh no, dear Harriet would be so angry! Not that she would
ever be unkind! I don’t think she would know how. But I do hate to disappoint
her.”

“A pity.” The
colonel gazed into her deep blue eyes a second or two longer, and just as Sophy
began to feel a bit discomfited, he sighed slightly and lowered his head to
hers.

“I know I should
not,” he whispered in her ear, “But I really think I must steal one little kiss
from you in return for my assistance.”

Startled, Sophy
opened her mouth slightly, but no words came to her, as Ranulf turned his head,
allowing his lips to trail across her cheek to settle gently on her plush
mouth. It lasted only a moment or two before he set her gently away from him,
saying, “Now, if you will permit me, I will help you with your belongings.”
Sophy’s hand flew to her lips, in which a pulse was suddenly pounding, and her
eyes widened, but she remained silent, turning away from him to hide a violent
blush, as she began to pack up her materials rather haphazardly.

She watched as he
unhurriedly but efficiently packed up her easel, then helped her restore her
paints to their box. In a matter of minutes, everything was secure in the cart,
the wet canvas perched overall.

“Now, where is your
invisible maid?” he said teasingly.

“Wallis!”
called Sophy. There was no answer.

“If she does not
arrive, I can assist you,” the Colonel said reassuringly. “But I believe you
are in luck. This must be Wallis and Matthew.”

The maid appeared,
almost running, with Matthew trailing behind her. “I am so sorry, Lady Sophia,”
she said. “Matthew and I were just walking, and we went farther than I thought!
I heard you call, but it took a few minutes to find our way back!”

“Don’t worry,
Wallis,” said Sophy. “Colonel Stirling assisted me. Indeed, he
was so helpful that I am already prepared to leave.”

Wallis gave the
colonel a look of consternation, but he merely smiled and nodded at her. “Thank
you, Lady Sophia, for an interesting hour,” he said politely, taking Sophy’s
hand and pressing it slightly. He swung himself up into the saddle, and with a
nod, trotted away.

Wallis watched
in surprise as Sophy gazed after him. “Lady Sophia, we must hurry. Lord and
Lady Exencour are expecting you.”

Sophy turned
toward her, an odd look on her face. “I had forgotten what a well-spoken and
handsome gentleman the Colonel is,” she said.

“Whatever do you
mean Miss Sophy? When we were in London, you never had a good word to spare
him,” Wallis replied.

“Perhaps.” Sophy
colored slightly. “He is certainly far more polite here than he was in town.”

Two hours later,
Sophy found herself in the drawing room of Dargenwater Cottage, smiling
politely at Colonel Stirling over a cup of tea. She had dashed home from the
moor, harrying Wallis and Matthew unmercifully, not noticing the amused glances
the two servants shared. Once arrived at Glencairn, she had dashed to her room,
Wallis trailing in her wake, and tried on no less than four dresses before
settling on a creamy sarsenet dress with two rows of dagged flounces at the hem,
and a dark blue spencer, its puffed sleeves ornamented with satin bursts. At
her insistence, Wallis had dressed her hair in the latest style, parted in the
center with curls over the temple and a high looped bun in the back, before
carefully placing a Naples hat, split on the sides, over it.

Not giving her
maid even a moment to admire her handiwork, she had raced to the hall, where
she found her family awaiting her impatiently. After a short lecture from her
father on the matter of courtesy and timeliness, during which Douglas made
mocking faces at her from behind the earl’s back, the entire family had piled
into a barouche and made their way to Dargenwater Cottage, where the butler
escorted them into the drawing room with a flourish.

“You must
forgive us for being late!” said Harriet. “Dear Sophy was distracted by her
painting.”

Sophy flushed
and looked up to see Ranulf’s gazing at her, his expression bland, but his eyes
sparkling with a touch of humor. She glared at him for a moment and looked
away.

“As though I
would hold that against you!” Isobel turned to Sophy. “Did you accomplish a
great deal?”

“I began a new
painting,” said Sophy hesitantly.

“Did you? Of
what?”

Sophy glanced at
Ranulf again. “I walked up to the moor,” she said.

“It must be very
beautiful this time of year,” said Ranulf.

“Oh, it is
indeed,” pronounced Harriet. “Such a jumble of colors, and the sky is so vast! I
know that Sophy finds it a very romantic scene.”

“Does she?” Ranulf
turned his gaze to Sophy.

“Oh yes, she
will go on about the wind, and the scent of the flowers, and who knows what
else,” confided Harriet. “I always thought it a great pity that she never met a
gentleman on any of her painting trips there. She is so enamored of the view,
that I half hope she will transfer those emotions to a person!” She laughed
gently at her nonsensical notion.

Sophy flushed
furiously. “Mama, Colonel Stirling does not care to hear such nonsense,” she
said quickly. “Indeed, my painting is far too dull to discuss. Isobel, how did
you find your excavations this morning? Did the rain and snow cause much damage
over the winter?”

To her great
relief the tide of the conversation turned, and when the butler entered with
the tea tray, Sophy felt she had regained her composure. She accepted a cup
gratefully and looked across the table to find Ranulf’s eyes on her. She smiled
brightly. He nodded pleasantly back at her. She turned to Isobel, who sat at
her side, and began an animated conversation about the latest fashion in
bonnets. When she glanced across the table again a few minutes later, she saw that
Ranulf was talking easily with her father, the two men deep in discussion about
horses, while Douglas excitedly interjected the occasional comment.

“How do you like
Colonel Stirling now that we are in Scotland?” asked Isobel.

Sophy jumped. “What?”

“He is quite the
favorite of everybody in your family,” continued Isobel. “Even Glencairn allows
him to be a very good fellow. Do you like him any better than you did before?”

Sophy shrugged. “He
seems to be polite enough,” she answered. “I fear that I shall never feel as
warmly toward him as others in my family do.”

“What a pity,”
said Isobel. “But I suppose there is no help for it.”

“Why does
everyone care about my opinion of Colonel Stirling?” asked Sophy, exasperated. “He
is nearly old enough to be my father, you know. It is not as though I will ever
be friends with him.”

“My dear, he is not
even fifteen years older than you! Though, from what I’ve heard of Ranulf, I
suppose it would not be impossible.” Isobel chuckled at Sophy’s shocked face. “You
are old enough to hear such things, my dear, and I was merely funning. Ranulf
has a way with the ladies, but I’ve never heard that he has any by-blows.”

“I should hope
not,” said Sophy primly. “If you will forgive me, I am bored with the topic of
Colonel Stirling.”

“What a pity. I
was just about to ask you to take a turn with me in the garden. Lady Exencour’s
roses are lovely, and I thought you might wish to admire them.”

Sophy looked up,
horrified to find Ranulf next to her, a look of amusement on his face. “Oh!”
she said. “Please forgive me, I did not mean—”

“I’m sure you
did not,” he replied. “In that case, perhaps you would like to walk with me in
the garden?”

“Oh! Oh, yes,
certainly,” said Sophy, coming so hastily to her feet that she almost bumped
into him. “Oh!” she repeated, flustered.

“Yes, do show
Sophy the garden,” said Isobel. “I’ve often thought I would like her to paint a
landscape of it one summer. Then, in the dreary depths of winter, holed up at
Kitswold or Strancaster, I will have a reminder of sunlit days and roses.”

“We will discuss
it as we walk,” promised the colonel. He proffered his arm to Sophy. “Lady
Sophia?”

She took his arm
gingerly, and allowed him to lead her through the French doors and out into the
bright sunlight. They stood for a moment, surveying the scene spread out before
them, the neatly graveled path leading through a riot of bushes heavy with
roses, their heavy scent hanging in the air.

Ranulf led her
forward, and they strolled silently for a time, as Sophy tried to gather her
wits. She looked up at her companion’s profile, but he was gazing ahead with an
unreadable expression.

“The flowers are
very beautiful,” she finally ventured, unable to tolerate the quiet any longer.

“They are
indeed. Lady Exencour is an excellent gardener,” he replied.

“Oh, Isobel
would never claim credit for this!” said Sophy artlessly. “She would tell you
she employs an excellent gardener. Her talents lie elsewhere, and she is well
aware of that.”

“It is wise of
her to know where she excels and where she does not. We should all be so
insightful.”

“Perhaps I have
learned something from her, then,” said Sophy. “For I am a great deal better at
painting than I am at anything else.”

“I’m sure you
excel in the ballroom as well, Lady Sophia.”

“Pooh. Anyone
can be taught to dance respectably, and I dance no better and no worse than any
other young woman in London. But to create something like this garden—that is
something to be proud of indeed.”

“You feel Lady
Exencour’s gardener is an artist?” asked Ranulf, a touch of surprise in his
voice.

She gave a
gurgle of laughter. “Begbie is at least as much of an artist as I am. Indeed,
he is a great deal more accomplished than I, for he is a master and I am still
a student.”

“Your sentiments
do you credit,” said Ranulf.

“Now you sound
like my governess,” said Sophy.

“I do? How
dreadful. I only meant to say most women of the
ton
would see the
gardener as a servant, and this garden as merely something they had paid for.”

“Oh, Mama has
always taught me we should all be respected for what we contribute,” said
Sophy. “She was Isobel’s companion, you know, before she married Papa. Her
family had no money, and she was dependent on her cousin’s generosity. She has
always been grateful that Isobel treated her kindly. The lot of a poor relative
can be a difficult one.”

“Lady Glencairn
seems to be wise as well,” said Ranulf.

“Many people
think her rather silly, but I consider myself fortunate to have been raised by
her, and to have Isobel for a friend. Only think how dreadful it would be to
have a mother who thinks only of dresses, and dancing, and flirting with
gentlemen. It is not that Mama and Isobel do not enjoy such things—they are not
scolds—but they know that one must feed one’s soul as well.”

Ranulf raised
his eyebrows slightly and led to her to a bench nestled under an ornamental
tree. The branches drooped over it slightly, creating a bit of shade in the
bright sunlight. A large bush covered with pink roses was planted next to the
bench and Sophy stopped for a moment to admire the blooms.

“You see how
this is perfectly placed?” she asked. “As I have visited here for years, I know
this bench is new, but Begbie has made it seem as though it has always been
here. He has planted the roses close enough that you can enjoy their scent, but
not so close as to hem you in. Now tell me he is not an artist!”

“I would not
dare. In truth, I am ashamed I never thought of the art of a garden before,”
said Ranulf.

Sophy seated
herself and looked up at him. “Do not concern yourself,” she said kindly. “Gentlemen
have other matters to think of. I’m sure that your time in the Peninsula left
you little time to think of gardeners.”

Ranulf’s lips
twitched. “I will one day be Laird of Spaethness. Then I will have to think of
a great many things, including gardeners.”

He sat down next
to her and Sophy was immediately aware of him, remembering with a rush the
feeling of his lips on hers that morning. Had it only been a few hours ago that
they had been alone together on the moor, amid the heather and the rushing
wind? How very different this quiet, enclosed garden was.

“I—I’m sure you will
make an excellent laird,” she murmured.

“I will try,” he
said seriously. “I expected the Army to be my life, not to inherit the estate. I
will count on you, Lady Sophia, to remind me of my duty to my staff.”

“Oh, I doubt I
will know you then,” said Sophy awkwardly. “After all, Spaethness is far away,
and you will doubtless have a wife to remind you of such things.”

“Indeed.” Ranulf
reached out and touched a rose with one long finger. “Tell me, Lady Sophia, why
did you not tell your mother and Lady Exencour that we met on the moor this
morning?”

Sophy looked
away uncomfortably. “I—I don’t know. It is not as though they would have
disapproved. Everyone is very fond of you, you know.”

“Except for you.”

“It is not that
I am not fond of you—or rather, I do not mean to say I am fond of you, but
rather that—well, that, while fond is perhaps a strong word, I do not dislike
you, but fondness…” Sophy trailed off, rather horrified by where her words were
taking her.

“I understand,”
said Ranulf. “Or at least I think perhaps I do.”

“At any rate, I
did not say anything because—well, because I thought they would wish to see the
painting, and they would talk on and on about how kind you were to pose for me,
and then they would tease me about it, and—and it would ruin everything.” She
looked up at him helplessly. “That makes no sense, I know.”

“On the
contrary, it makes a great deal of sense.” Ranulf smiled suddenly, and she
blinked as his countenance lightened. She realized abruptly that he was often
solemn, and wondered what had happened to cause it.

“How you can
possibly mean that? I feel like I make no sense at all when I am talking to
you.”

“You would be
surprised, Lady Sophia, how well I understand everything you say to me.”

A little furrow
appeared on Sophy’s forehead as she looked at him, perplexed. But she didn’t
respond, as there was the sound of footsteps on gravel, and Isobel, Douglas, and
Francis appeared around the bend in the path.

“There you are!”
said Douglas. “We have been wondering where you got to, Ranulf!”

Ranulf stood. “Lady
Sophia was sharing her wisdom about gardens with me,” he said.

Douglas gave a
hoot of laughter. “Wisdom! Sophy? I wish I may hear her say something wise.”

Sophy bit back a
sharp retort. Ranulf turned to her and took her hand in his.

“Will I see you tomorrow
on the moors?” he asked softly, so the others could not hear.

“I have promised
I will help Isobel by sketching her excavations,” she answered, dimly aware of
a sense of disappointment.

“Another time,
then,” he said. The pressure of his fingers increased just slightly, before he
released her hand.

“Join us,” said
Isobel cheerfully. “Sophy can share her wisdom with us as well.”

Sophy stood
somewhat reluctantly and fell into step beside Isobel, while Ranulf joined
Francis and Douglas. She looked once over her shoulder and her eyes met his. She
saw a glimmer of a smile there, and looked away, confused. She was not quite
sure, but she thought something had changed.