Attired in Highland Gold, page 6
Not yet.
Instead, he intended to be nothing but charming to them. “Susan, what has been your favorite part of being here in the Highlands thus far?”
“I like sliding down the staircase.” She giggled. “Jacob taught me how.” When she glanced at her mother and Clara frowned, the girl sobered. “I want to go hiking but Mama says I’m too young.”
“Me too,” Jacob chimed in. “The other boys are allowed to go wherever they want. Why can’t we as well?” He sent a look down the table where Benedict’s children were talking at the same time to their mother.
Clara huffed. “The other boys are slightly older, and they’ve grown up around this property. They are more familiar with the dangers found therein.”
“Ha!” The boy released an annoyed breath. “I’m old enough. Haven’t I done enough protecting of you and Susan?”
Caelan’s eyebrows rose. He glanced at Clara, whose expression appeared crestfallen. Is that why the tricks were perpetuated last night? Had the kiss been observed and now Jacob was taking the situation in hand in the attempt to warn him away?
That made sense.
“Oh, Jacob, don’t put such pressure on yourself. You are but six, yet.” Clara nodded her thanks when footmen put plates in front of each of them. Roasted pheasant—shot by one of his cousins—in a cream sauce, charred root vegetables no doubt from area farmers, as well as a warm, savory bread pudding complete with brown gravy and chestnuts. “There is time enough to assume responsibility.”
“Without Papa here, someone has to keep you and Susan safe.” The boy tucked into his food with gusto.
“I think it’s very brave of you to wish to protect your family,” Caelan said, and hoped it would be the connection he needed to bond with the lad. “Especially here in Scotland, where sometimes threats come in the way of not people but of ghosts.”
Both children gawked at him with expectation in their eyes.
“Don’t lead them astray with naught but stories, Lord Everly,” Clara said with a clear warning in her voice.
“Very well. I wouldn’t wish to make you cross.” He spread his linen napkin over his lap while he caught Mary’s eye from the down the table. She gave him a grin and a nod of encouragement while Brody openly chuckled. As he took up his fork, he said, “The only reason I mentioned ghosts was because I found a toad and a mouse in my boots this morning, but don’t recall having a visitor in my room last night.”
“Oh, how surprising that must have been.” Clara’s gaze narrowed. “But surely it wasn’t the work of ghosts.”
“Who can say?” He shrugged, took a mouthful of pheasant, and then chewed. “Perhaps I’ll feed them to a few snakes I saw in the bushes.”
Outcries came from both children.
He sent a wink Clara’s way. “Honestly, I’m not certain who would wish to play a trick on me if it wasn’t ghosts.”
“Ah.” She gave him a surreptitious nod. “It’s Samhain, Lord Everly. These things happen.”
Susan nodded. Her curls bounced. “Tricks can be fun.”
“Perhaps.” Caelan continued to eat his food. All the while, the children fairly vibrated off their chairs. “Shall I tell you about some of the more famous ghosts here in Scotland?”
“Oh, yes!” Susan nodded vigorously.
Jacob’ eyes rounded. “You know stories?”
“Many. I spent years here as a youth.” He glanced at Clara, who nodded.
“Go ahead. They’ll pester you if you don’t.”
“All right, but don’t blame me if you’re haunted by ghouls and ghosts in your beds.” He waved at Benedict’s wife. “Have your bairns come down here. I’m going to tell a couple of ghost stories.”
Susan frowned. “Lord Everly, what is a bairn?”
He chuckled, for she was adorable in her confusion, and very reminiscent of her mother. “It is Scottish for child.”
Once the other three young ones came close, Caelan began. “This first story is about Falkland Palace, where Scotland’s first duke, David Stewart, rapidly rose to power. That power is what ultimately proved to be his downfall.” He took another bite of his pheasant. “The duke’s rival, Robert Stewart, was the Duke of Albany. The men hated each other. Both wished to take ownership of Falkland Palace. Well, one day Robert concocted some sort of story that put David Stewart in a bad light in front of his peers and other men high on the instep. This led to an arrest.”
Jacob’ eyes widened. “Was he killed?”
“Oh, eventually.” Caelan lifted his wine glass to his lips and took a sip. “David Stewart was subsequently arrested and taken to his home at Falkland, hooded and riding backward on a mule.” He made his voice sound spooky. “This was the ultimate indignity, you see.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “I can’t even ride a horse to begin with.”
“Well, upon arrival, David Stewart was thrown into a cell deep beneath the palace. He either starved to death or died of dysentery. Starvation would have taken mere days if he wasn’t given any food, perhaps longer if he was given crusts.” Caelan shrugged. “But the story says that he died eighteen days later at the age of three and twenty.”
One of the other children gasped. “He was old.” The emphasis on the last word immediately made Caelan and Clara chuckle.
“Well, such was the fate of many a man in Scotland, but David Stewart is believed to be one of the ghosts who haunt Falkland Palace. No doubt he wishes to have his revenge on everyone who had a hand in his unrightful demise.” Caelan waggled his eyebrows. “There has also been reports that sinister faces were spied at the windows of the Queen’s Room inside.”
“I don’t ever want to go there, Lord Everly,” Susan said in a hushed voice.
“Don’t be a baby,” her brother cautioned with a good deal more bravado, possibly because the other boys stood behind him. He looked Caelan in the eye. “Tell us another one.”
“Very well.” After a few more bites, he did as bid. Perhaps this would be what endeared him to the boy. “Alloa Tower, the oldest keep in Scotland, has stood for 700 years. It has survived fires, curses, and a handful of attacks.”
“Attacks?” Susan’s eyes were as round as her brother’s. “Why?”
Caelan chuckled, as did Brody from down the table. “Scottish history has been forged with violence. This bloody history has seen a number of spirits take up residence in the Clackmannanshire abode.”
“Such as?” Jacob frowned and crossed his arms at his chest.
“Well, for example, the tower has a ghost of a man in chains in the dungeon accompanied by a serving girl.”
“Can you hear the chains?” Susan wanted to know.
“Oh, certainly, especially if the night is quiet,” Caelan said in what he hoped was a thrilling voice. “I have it on good authority that there is another ghost, this one of a young girl who can allegedly be seen in the Great Hall. One of my friends saw the specter of a woman dressed in black who watched over a cradle in one of the rooms.”
From beside him, Clara shivered, whether from the autumnal breeze or his tale, he couldn’t say. “How awful.”
“Indeed, which is why it’s not a good idea to walk castles or other old buildings in Scotland after dark.” He hoped this lesson was pressed upon the children and would stop any further tricks. “Beyond that, in the Charter Room, a young boy has been seen crying, as has an armed man with strange eyes, as well as a gaunt clergyman dressed in black.”
Jacob snorted. “That’s not frightening.”
“I agree. The most terrifying of all the ghosts in the Tower resides in the Solar Room, where a man has been seen hanging. One of my cousins went there. He told me he experienced the sensation of being strangled while he stood in the room.” Slowly, Caelan put his hands to his own neck and then imitated choking noises.
Much to the horror of Susan, who immediately implored him to stop.
“That’s enough, Lord Everly,” Clara said in a soft voice with a hand to his leg where the children couldn’t see.
Heat immediately swept up his thigh to burrow into his stones, but he cut the antics.
“That is a bully story, Lord Everly.” Jacob sprang from his chair. “When I’m grown, I’m going to visit that tower.”
Clara shook her head. “Why don’t you children go play? These stories have rather worn me out.”
Calmly, Caelan finished eating his luncheon.
“You have a gift for storytelling, Cousin.” Mary waved to him. “Brody promised to take me riding around the property before the rain comes.”
“Enjoy.” He watched them go, and then sighed. “I wish I could show you around the area as well. Walking the grounds is something I quite enjoy, but that’s impossible enough while hobbled. I can’t imagine how my ankle would throb from being jolted on horseback.”
“Everything will come in time.” She withdrew her hand, and he missed that fleeting touch. “Can you walk without pain? I see you’ve managed to put on your boot today.”
“A bit, though it’s still tender and I shouldn’t put my full weight on it lest I damage it further.” Once he pushed back his plate, an idea took hold. “We could possibly stroll to the loch, though. It’s only a baby one with no name and just a half mile away.”
Those tempting rose-colored lips pulled into a frown. “A what?”
“Loch.” He shot her a grin. “A lake is called a loch here.”
Interest lit her blue eyes. “Do you think you could manage it? I would adore seeing something of this country before I leave.”
For you, I would manage anything. Perhaps he could tease and cajole her into a smile, and perhaps steal a kiss of his own. Aloud, he said, “Yes. Tomorrow, I’ll wrap the ankle more securely. We’ll head out after luncheon if the weather holds.”
“Will we bring the children?”
“Of course.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m fairly certain your children put those vermin in my boots.”
“It’s entirely possible. I caught them giggling over something last night.” When she smiled, his world nearly upended. “They are children, after all, and it is Samhain.”
“Yes, but they don’t like me because I talk to you.”
“Nonsense.” But her gaze dropped to her plate.
“Perhaps they witnessed the kiss from yesterday,” he continued in a barely audible voice so the remainder of the people at the table couldn’t hear. “Jacob is quite protective.”
A blush stained her cheeks. “We should have been more careful, but I hadn’t planned to do that...”
“Mmm, so I gathered from your flight.” He took a sip of his wine. “Would you, ah, want a repeat of that if we were afforded the opportunity?”
“No.” The word sounded forced from a tight throat. Her blush intensified. “Once was enough.”
“I see.” He gave into a frown, for he truly didn’t. Before his eyes, Clara withdrew into herself, locked herself away into that aloof tower of her own, but why? Curiosity made him reckless. “You didn’t enjoy the kiss.” It wasn’t a question.
“I didn’t say that.” She shot a glance down the table, but no one paid them the slightest bit of attention. The echo of childish laughter wafted to their location. “My life is complicated just now, and you aren’t free of your past either.”
For long moments they sat in silence.
“I could be for the right person,” he finally said. More than anything, Caelan wanted to win her. He fell for her a bit more each time they met and talked. It was as natural as breathing, but why couldn’t she feel that attraction, that connection too?
“I am not her, Lord Everly,” she said in a firm whisper.
Only because you’re not letting yourself live. He stirred but didn’t press the issue. “So, a stroll tomorrow?”
“I suppose. The exercise will be most welcome.”
“Indeed.” But he would work harder to draw her out, and perhaps himself in the process.
“Thank you for entertaining the children with stories. You do have a gift, just as Mary said.” Clara rose to her feet with all the grace of a queen. “I appreciate that.”
Caelan scrambled into a standing position. “You’re welcome.” Then there was no reason to linger. “Well, enjoy your afternoon.”
Chapter Six
October 26, 1819
Clara couldn’t escape the rain in the odd, round-shaped hunting box. The gray gloom and chill pervaded the atmosphere, and with the rain came the knowledge that the planned outing to the loch with Caelan was delayed.
That was perhaps the most annoying thing about the rain, for she’d looked forward to that outing more than she’d anticipated.
Since formal tea was a couple of hours off, and since the twins had fallen asleep for an afternoon nap, she had some unexpected leisure time. An anemic search for Mary didn’t result in anything, and neither could she find some of Caelan’s other cousins, but from the snatches of masculine laughter and jovial teasing that came from the lower level, she assumed they were all clustered in the gentleman’s lounge or the smoking room.
She stopped off at the library thinking she might indulge in some light reading, but when nothing captured her attention, she blew out a breath and trailed along the curved corridor. Outside the drawing room doors, the sound of a man singing brought her to a halt. The double doors were nearly closed all the way, but when she peeked through the crack, she caught her breath. Caelan was within, and from the looks of it, he was alone.
It was his voice that swooped and soared as he sang an aria from a popular opera she’d actually seen performed shortly before her husband died. The notes were powerful, sometimes graceful, and sometimes intense, but it put her in mind of a bird, going wherever the wind took it. What was a man with the voice of an angel doing here in a hunting box so far from London where he could have the world at his feet?
As she unashamedly stood there lurking at the door, Caelan switched from the aria to a song in French. She couldn’t understand most of it, but the emotions he invoked inside that song had tears pooling in her eyes. Oh, this man was beyond talented, yet he was here, cooling his heels as the only son of an earl. The hand she’d rested on the iron ring that served as a door latch shook. The longer she lingered, the more the sound of his voice sank deep into her soul to find all of the cracks there.
And what was more, that voice, the words felt as if it were a balm, an epoxy of some sort, which began to fill in the first of those cracks, made them not hurt as acutely.
A few moments of silence reigned before he sang again, only this time it was a raunchy little tavern song she’d heard one of the grooms at a posting inn sing in passing while she’d been in Scotland. Despite wishing to remain hidden, a giggle escaped her throat, for the song was vastly entertaining as much as it was scandalous.
Immediately, the singing stopped. Before she could move away, the sound of uneven footsteps and the thud of a cane echoed. Seconds later, one of the doors was wrenched open, and since her fingers were still curled around, Clara tumbled into the room and right into Caelan’s arms.
“Pardon me.” Quickly enough, she pushed away from him while her cheeks burned with both embarrassment and awareness. “I was—”
“—listening at keyholes?” he asked with an arched eyebrow and a grin that was this side of mischievous.
“Yes.” How could she deny it when he’d caught her?
“Come in. You best keep me company before I go out of my mind with boredom.” He waved her into the room and left one of the doors partially open. “I’d visited the library, but the collections found here are as boring as the entertainment when one is hobbled. Obviously, the laird has kept all the best literature for himself at the castle.”
She gawked at him. “You enjoy reading as well as singing?”
“You appear shocked.” He put a hand over his heart and gave her an expression of mock outrage. “And here I thought I appeared erudite and intelligent.”
The heat in her cheeks intensified. Clara collapsed onto a chair near the fireplace where cheerful flames danced behind a decorative metal grate. The warmth was appreciated. “You do, of course, especially now that I know you sing like you’ve fallen from heaven.”
Caelan snorted. “I don’t know how I feel to be likened to a fallen angel.” He sat himself on a sofa near her location and eased his left foot onto a padded stool. “But I understand what you’re trying to say. Thank you for the compliment.”
“It’s true, though. I’ve long adored music of all kinds, but there is something special and soul-changing hearing a man sing from the depths of his being.”
He eyed her with speculation and then pleasure. “You truly believe my singing that wonderful?”
“I absolutely do because I’m complete rubbish at it.” At least that’s how she’d heard the British turn of phrase.
“Somehow, I don’t believe that. You’re having me on for sympathy.”
The teasing in his voice made her smile. “Oh, it’s true. That isn’t a skill I acquired. In fact, each time I tried to sing my babies lullabies, they cried within moments of the first notes. As soon as I stopped, they settled.” With nothing to do with her hands, Clara clasped them in her lap. “No amount of voice lessons as a young woman had an effect. In fact, it only made me detest singing in front of an audience.” A bit of self-conscious laughter escaped her. “I don’t mind doing it for myself if I’m alone, for no one is there to listen.” Having his attention all to herself was quite daunting, and once more, his presence seemed to fill the room until she had no choice but to notice him. “Was singing something your parents cultivated in you during your formative years?”
“Ah, not really. My mother adored it, so I made it a point to give her private concerts. It seemed to cheer her exponentially, for she suffered depression more often than not due to health concerns.” He shot her a grin that brimmed with confidence and a touch of wickedness before sadness overtook those emotions. “I merely have always had an affinity for singing. It proved helpful when stuck in various drawing rooms full of guests who needed entertained. All the better if there were young ladies of skill at the harp or pianoforte who’d memorized a large battery of pieces.”
