Lord Ruthven's Bride (10 page)

“The ground is fertile and there is good grazing for cattle. Forgive me, Miss Duncan,” he added. “I should no’ speak of sheep.”

“As long as you do not bleat, my lord, you are in no danger of irritating me.”

Muffled laughter emanated from Lady Annabelle’s direction. 

“Spoken like a man,” Miss Fletcher said with a laugh that sounded artificial compared to Annabelle’s. “All business.”

“What else but business should he speak of?” Annabelle said. Irritation had replaced her good humor. “It isn’t as if he came to plant roses.”

“Of course not,” Lady Hilary said. “Women plant roses.” She looked at James and gave a coy smile that curdled his stomach.

“You have never grown a rose in your life,” Lady Annabelle said.

“I am quite adept at nurturing roses,” Lady Hilary replied. “Plus many other flowers.”

“When have you grown so much as a weed?” Annabelle demanded.

“She does have you there,” Miss Fletcher said.

Lady Hilary shot Annabelle a frown, but Annabelle either didn’t notice or blithely ignored the lady.

“Pay them no mind, my lord,” Lady Hilary said. “One day you must come and see my garden at Blane Hall.”

That snapped James’s attention onto her. Grayson flicked an amused glance his way and James almost wondered whether the man had conspired to pair him with the lady.

The ladies chatted as they left the road and walked a path through a grove. They emerged from the trees and James caught sight of The Three Sisters beyond a hill. Even from this distance he could see that Lady Annabelle hadn’t exaggerated about the falls’ beauty. Water gushed from the three formations and joined into a single stream that disappeared from sight. He looked forward to seeing the inlet.

They reached the pool minutes later and James wished he’d come alone. No, not alone, with Lady Annabelle. The group stopped a few feet from the water, but Lady Annabelle stepped so near, wavelets lapped at the hem of her dress. James had the impression she wanted to remove her boots and wade into the pool. Even this late in March, the water would still be cold, but if she had been alone, he suspected she would have waded in anyway. He imagined her barefoot, skirts calf-high, sloshing through the shallow water and squealing. She would, however, need warming once he coaxed her from the water. 

By God, such thoughts would drive him mad.

Ten minutes passed before Lady Fletcher finally released his arm. James had begun to wonder if she had any sense of propriety, but a third glance from Lady Hilary finally shamed her. Lady Hilary now stood beside Miss Fletcher, who, despite a frown from Miss Duncan, refused to wander more than two feet from him.

“What do you think of The Three Sisters?” Lady Hilary asked.

“The falls are extraordinary,” he said, and wondered how he would extricate himself from the two women for the walk back to the castle.

“This is a favorite spot of mine,” she said.

He thought he heard a feminine snort from the earl and Miss Duncan’s vicinity.  

A tiny splash sounded and Lady Annabelle cried, “Look, Nick!”

James followed her gaze out over the water to a circular ripple.

“When was the last time you fished here?” Annabelle asked Lord Grayson.

“Probably the last time you waded in the pool and scared away our prey.”

She shrugged. “That’s what you got for not teaching me how to fish.”

“Your father would not have approved.”

“He wouldn’t have cared. You simply did not want to bother.”

“That is unfair, Annabelle,” he said, but James heard the humor in his voice.

“Stuart agreed to teach me, but you talked him out of it,” she replied with mock indignation.

“You had Stuart wrapped around your finger,” the earl said.

She shook her head. “You confuse me with Josephine.”

“
Both
of you knew he would do anything you asked.”

“He is our cousin. He is supposed to do what we ask. If he were here now, he would teach me.” The wistful note in her voice surprised James, as did the jealousy that rose.

“I can teach you,” Miss Duncan said.

Lady Annabelle’s face lit. “You know how to fish? Did a cousin or brother-in-law teach you?” She shot Grayson a smirk.

“Oh no,” Miss Duncan said. “As an only child, I have no brothers-in-law, nor have I any cousins. I watched the young men employed by my father fish in the cow pasture pond. Unlike proper gentlemen such as Lord Grayson,” she flashed him a smile, “they had no compunction about teaching me to fish.” She nodded toward the water. “I wager the fellow who made that splash was a perch. Small, but fine eating.”

“I imagine you’re right,” Grayson said. “You and Annabelle have much in common. She, too, has an
inquisitive
nature.”

James shuddered. One hoyden was bad enough. Two were sure to get into trouble—as Lady Annabelle and Miss Summerfield demonstrated. How much of Annabelle’s snooping ways was her fiancé aware of? All of it, probably, and he would still marry her.

“I simply cannot imagine fishing,” Lady Hilary said.

Miss Fletcher shuddered. “All those worms.”

Lady Annabelle picked up a rock, took aim, and skipped it across the water. To his surprise, it made five skips before dropping from sight.

“Not as messy and unladylike as baking mud pies,” she said.

Miss Fletcher’s cheeks reddened. “I was eight, Annabelle.”

She picked up another rock and aimed. “Once a mud pie baker—” she flicked the rock, “—always a mud pie baker.” The rock skimmed four times then sank.

James tamped down laughter.  So, Lady Annabelle did pay heed to feminine sparring.

Lady Fletcher lifted her chin. “I stopped making mud pies ages ago. You, on the other hand, are still skipping rocks and muddying your hem.”  

“
Leslie
,” Lady Hilary said. “She is jesting with you.”

Miss Fletcher’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Well, yes, of course, she is.”

Her attention shifted to James. He took three quick paces to the water, dropped to a crouch, and searched for a flat rock. A nice sized rock lay half buried in an inch of water. He pried the rock free and stood. Miss Fletcher took an uneasy step backwards and James realized she was worried about getting her dress wet. He should have dug for rocks twenty minutes ago. He fitted the rock to his hand, took aim, and flicked it across the water. It skipped three time, slowed for a fourth skip, then dropped into the water.

“You need practice, my lord,” Lady Annabelle said. She threw another rock, which skipped five times, then sank.

“Nicely done,” he said. “I used to get nine or ten skips easily.”

“It is easy to brag, my lord.”

He canted his head. “As usual, you are right, my lady.”

James scanned the ground and found another flat rock. He turned it in his palm, feeling the weight, the size, the small groove on one side, then turned it, smooth side down, and flicked it. The rock skipped four, five times, then slowed, a sixth time and disappeared into the water. He was surprised he’d done that well. He’d been a boy the last time he’d skipped rocks.

Lady Annabelle fished a rock from the water’s edge and James laughed when a section of her hem floated in the water. She glanced at him, brows drawn, then narrowed her eyes and rose, rock in hand. Like him, she took a moment and he imagined her assessing the rock’s size and weight. The woman had intellect and grit. He would never be bored with her during the long winter nights here in the northern Highlands. She turned to the side and flicked the rock. To his chagrin, it skipped seven times before dropping.

“Well done,” Miss Duncan said. “I wager Lord Ruthven will have a difficult time beating seven skips.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“Wager?” Lady Annabelle repeated.

“Annabelle,” Grayson said in a warning voice.

“No scolding, Nick,” she said.

“Ladies do not make wagers,” he said.

“It’s all in fun. All right,” she quickly added. “I will not wager money. It’s not really a bet if it isn’t money. I will wager—”

“No wagers,” Grayson cut in.

“I must agree,” James said. “I am happy to beat ye, Lady Annabelle, but I will not wager.”

“You are afraid of losing,” she said.

“I will not take anything from ye,” he corrected.

“Lord Ruthven is right not to take any winnings from you,” Lady Hillary said.

“What if I win?” Annabelle demanded.

“A lady does not accept anything from a gentlemen who isn’t a family member or her husband,” Lady Hilary replied.

“You are right,” Lady Annabelle said, to his surprise, then slanted her gaze onto him. “Are you a gentleman who can take a trouncing from a lady?”

“I would like to think so,” he said. “As that has never happened…” James shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. “One more toss, then?”

He gave a slight bow. “As ye wish, my lady.” 

“If we were betting, I would wager on you, Lady Annabelle,” Miss Duncan said.

Annabelle laughed heartily and James grinned. The worry lines in her forehead had disappeared. Her cousin may have been right in suggesting she needed some sun. She might even sleep better after the fresh air. He hoped she spent more time outdoors where she would think less of what had happened and…what, more of him? No, her walks would be with the Marquess Northington.

“Shall we throw at the same time?” she said.

“You cannot hope to win,” Miss Fletcher said.

“Don’t be silly,” Annabelle said with an impatient shake of her head. “Skipping stones isn’t a contest of strength. I can easily beat him.”

“I would no’ say ‘easily,’” James said.

“Oh,” she said, a lovely blush tingeing her cheeks. “Of course not.”

He looked at the group. “Would someone like to count?”

“Wait,” Annabelle said. “Along with whoever has the most skips, we should add whoever’s rock goes the farthest.”

“Good thinking,” Miss Duncan said. “If you tie with skips, the winner is the person whose rock went the farthest.”

“I am certain Lord Ruthven will win,” Lady Hilary said.

“Yes,” Lady Fletcher said. “You are sure to win, Lord Ruthven.”

James stepped even with Annabelle.

“Count for us, Nick,” she said.

“All right,” he agreed. “On three.”

James turned the stone over in his palm.

“One,” Grayson said.

James fitted the stone to his fingers.

“Two.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Annabelle position her hand in readiness to flick the stone.

“Three.”

They both flicked. The rocks skipped across the water, five, six, seven skips. James’s stone sank on the eighth and Annabelle’s skipped two more times before disappearing into the water.

She whirled on him. “You cheated.”

James blinked.

“You won, Annabelle,” Grayson said.

“I did not. He cheated.”

“As I lost, I canno’ see how I cheated,” James said.

“You let me win.”

James looked at Grayson. “Forgive me for saying so, Grayson, but your sister-in-law is a contrary woman.”

“It runs in the family.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She stalked closer to James. “I demand a fair game.”

The scent of rosewater filled his nostrils. He was torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting to toss her into the water. Tossing her into the water would be a safer choice.

“I do not need you to let me win,” she said.

“Would ye feel better if I won?” he asked.

“At least I would know you hadn’t thrown the game.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” Miss Fletcher said. “You should accept graciously.”

“Accept what graciously?”

James turned as Annabelle whirled to face her fiancé.

For an instant, Annabelle couldn’t believe Calum stood ten feet away from her.

“Am I intruding?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said in unison with the other ladies. But shame caused her to blush over the realization that he
was
intruding. She’d enjoyed Lord Ruthven’s company, and Calum—along with marriage—had been far from her thoughts.

“If we’d known you were coming we would have delayed our walk,” Nick said.

“I mentioned to Montagu that I planned to come,” he said, “but I gave no specific time.”

“He should have told me,” Annabelle said. “I would have stayed home to greet you.”

She started toward him, then realized she still held a stone. She tossed it behind her, then clasped her muddy hands behind her back. Embarrassment brought another wave of shame. Miss Fletcher was correct. She was unladylike. She’d been acting like the little girl who had pestered Nicholas and Stuart. She had no choice now but to own up to the truth.

Annabelle shrugged. “We were skipping stones.”

Calum’s brow rose and she braced for recrimination. Instead, he said, “I used to skip rocks as a lad. I was a fair hand.”

“Lady Annabelle has proven herself the champion,” Miss Duncan said. “She beat Lord Ruthven.”

Calum’s gaze shifted to the viscount. A hint of amusement lifted one corner of his mouth. “My condolences, sir.”

Lord Ruthven canted his head. “She won by two skips.”

Calum looked at her, brows raised. “Well done, my dear.”

“A lucky throw,” she said.

Was she daft? With Lord Ruthven, she’d felt the need to trounce him. With Calum, she became Miss Fletcher and Lady Hilary.

“On the contrary,” Ruthven said. “It was a good throw.”

Annabelle wanted—again—to throttle him. But she angled her head and said, “You are too kind, my lord.”

“I wish I had arrived sooner to see the contest,” Calum said.

“It was quite a heated game,” Miss Duncan said.

“Indeed? Perhaps next time I can take part.”

“I doubt I’ll be skipping any more stones,” Annabelle said.

“Of course,” he said, and she realized her mistake. He wanted to be a part of the fun and she had excluded him.

“Perhaps you will show us your skill?” she said.

He shook his head. “I think not. The game is finished.”

“Next time, then.”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps we should return home,” Nick said.

“I didn’t mean to cut short your outing,” Calum said.

“Not at all,” Annabelle said. “We don’t want to delay supper. You will sup with us, I hope?” In fact, she hoped he wouldn’t, for if Lord Ruthven was staying then… Lord, she was an idiot.

“I would be pleased to stay,” he said.

She smiled, but her stomach knotted.

“Ladies,” Nick said.

He started away and Miss Duncan fell into step alongside him. Lord Ruthven started forward and Lady Hilary and Miss Fletcher drew up alongside him. Calum extended an elbow and Annabelle hurried to his side. His gaze flicked to the hem of her dress and her cheeks warmed. She’d known he wouldn’t miss her dirty skirt. This time she couldn’t say she slipped and fell. She reached Calum’s side but didn’t slip her hand through his arm. He frowned.

“My hands are shamefully dirty, my lord. I was digging in the ground for rocks.”

He smiled. “I’ll take your hand, clean or soiled, Lady Annabelle.”

She dropped her gaze, too ashamed and too...cognizant of Lord Ruthven’s presence. She was a despicable woman. Calum was a good, kind man, and she wished him anywhere but here.

They started walking, her grimy hand in the crook of his arm, her fingers covered by the warmth of his hand. Only a week ago, his hand atop hers had made her wish for his kiss.

Ahead of them, Lady Hilary and Miss Fletcher prattled on about the weather, growing roses, and planned parties to which they would invite Lord Ruthven.

“You are looking well, Annabelle,” Calum said.

She wasn’t looking well. “You are too kind, my lord. I am, in fact, a mess.”

“A beautiful mess,” he murmured.

Annabelle snapped her head up. He smiled, as he had a thousand times, soft and attentive. The sudden pressure of tears caused her to drop her gaze.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

She nodded.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“As I said, I am a mess.”

He squeezed her hand. “You have not been quite the same since the ordeal with Lord Harley,” he whispered.

A tremble began in her stomach. True, she hadn’t been the same since that night. Since Lord Ruthven had wrapped her in his arms and carried her back to the carriage.

Calum slowed, let the others pull ahead a little, then whispered, “You need never fear again, Annabelle. I will protect you.”

Her heart began to pound and she had to look away.

He squeezed her hand again and, to her relief, said no more.  

The other ladies chatted with Lord Ruthven and Nick until they reached the castle’s drive. Annabelle couldn’t halt a glance at Lord Ruthven. His head was tilted toward Lady Hilary. She spoke low, as if for his ears only, and he seemed thoroughly engaged by the conversation. Annabelle dropped her gaze to the ground. So what if he found her attractive?

Hilary had acted silly earlier, but what woman wouldn’t act foolish around a man like Lord Ruthven? Look at her own earlier actions. Annabelle’s chest tightened. Her actions? Had she acted as foolishly as Hilary and Leslie? Worse. She’d used a child’s game to snag and hold Lord Ruthven’s attention. Dear God, she was to marry the Marquess of Northington. She couldn’t be in love with Lord Ruthven.

* * *

Five-year-old Ally MacBain shook with a wet cough that caused Annabelle to frown. Curse the former Lord Ruthven. He had gambled away his money and left his tenants to live in leaky, drafty cottages. Mrs. MacBain’s home was just such a one. As a result, her youngest daughter lay in bed struggling to breathe. Mrs. MacBain should have called for a doctor a week ago, but she feared the new viscount she’d not yet even met, so hadn’t dared ask for the doctor. 

“Ye have done enough, my lady,” Mrs. MacBain said.

Not nearly enough, Josephine thought. She smiled. “Trying to get rid of me, Mrs. MacBain?”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Nay, my lady. I wouldna’ do such a thing.”

Annabelle laughed. “I’m teasing. I know you wouldn’t. It is time I take my leave, however. Remember, Dr. Terris will be coming around any time.”

She wrung her skirt. “I wish ye wouldna’ bother the doctor, my lady.”

Annabelle laid a hand on the fingers that worked the skirt. “The new viscount is not his uncle.”

The woman hung her head. “If ye say so, my lady.”

Annabelle released her. “I will visit again tomorrow—if that is all right with you.”

Her head snapped up. “Ye are always welcome.”

Annabelle crossed the room to the small bed and sat on the mattress beside the little girl. “You will be good for your mother until I return tomorrow?”

Alley’s gaze fixed on the sash Annabelle wore and she touched the end hanging from Annabelle’s shoulder. Annabelle reached to unpin it from her shoulder, but the girl began to cough even worse than before. Annabelle reached toward her, then drew back and rose when her mother hurried over with a cup of water. Mrs. MacBain sat, then slipped a hand beneath Ally’s shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position. Patiently, she waited until the coughing eased enough to allow the girl to drink. After several sips, Mrs. MacBain lowered the child back to the pillow, then stood.

“When the doctor comes, do as he instructs,” Annabelle said.

She nodded. “Aye, my lady.”

Annabelle smiled. “Good.”

She started to leave, and Mrs. MacBain hurried past and opened the door. Annabelle stepped into the afternoon sun and Mrs. MacBain followed.

“Och, I dinna’ see Peter.” She hurried forward and glanced left, then right down the lane. She glanced both ways again, then turned to Annabelle. “I will find him and bring my sister to accompany ye.”

Annabelle shook her head and joined her. “No need to bother. It’s an easy walk.  I will reach Aeckland Castle well before dark.”

“Nay, my lady,” she exclaimed. “Ye should no’ walk.”

Annabelle laughed. “I have two strong legs. The walk will invigorate me.”

Mrs. MacBain shook her head. “The sky doesna’ look good.”

“If any of us waited for a clear day to leave the house, we would grow moldy indoors.” 

”There is a chill in the air.”

“I have my sash, if I grow cold.”

Before the woman could argue further, Annabelle set out at a brisk walk. She reached the main road minutes later, crested the second incline, and noticed an unaccustomed weariness in her legs. She grimaced. She had gone too long without hard work. The walk would do her good—if, in the solitude, she could keep her mind from returning to yesterday’s stroll and Lord Ruthven.

When she reached home, she would secure supper, then fall into bed with a good book. If God was merciful, she would be asleep inside of five minutes. Tomorrow, she would rise early and return to Mrs. MacBain’s home.

Bits of Dornoch Firth glistened between the tree covered hills to the north. She last visited Aeckland Castle two years ago. She missed the beauty of the firth and the clean air. Of all her father’s properties, this was her favorite. The castle was the oldest of all the homes he owned. As a girl, she had played hide-and-seek with Josephine in the castle. Seeing Josephine did her good. Since her and Nicholas’s marriage, Annabelle had seen her only once.

Annabelle shivered, suddenly aware the air had chilled considerably. She unfastened her sash and drew it around her shoulders, then pinned it in place over her breasts. She looked at the sky. Dark clouds gathered over the firth, blown in her direction by the wind. Mrs. MacBain might have been right. The weather—

A horse’s shrill cry brought her alert. She spun as a horse broke from the cover of trees that cloaked the dip between hills. Annabelle watched the rump of the riderless animal gallop down the road until it disappeared around a bend. Then broke from the Startlement and ran down the road toward that saddle between the hills. Annabelle veered off the road where she thought the horse had left the woods and raced through a smattering of trees out into the open. Up ahead on the left a man lay unmoving amongst tall grass. Annabelle reached him and dropped to her knees.

She laid a hand on the stranger’s chest and nearly cried when a strong heartbeat thumped against her palm. Annabelle quickly felt around his head and found no blood. She rose, then hesitated. Did she stay and try to wake him or go for help? Even if she could wake him, he might not be able to walk. She turned and raced back the way she’d come. Cold, misty rain began to fall. After ten minutes, her sleeves grew damp enough to chill her arms. How much farther was it to home? Should she have gone to the village instead?

A rider came into view over the next rise. His horse cantered, but the man must have seen her, for the horse broke into a gallop and the man’s plaid cloak whipped behind him in the biting wind. Breathing hard, Annabelle pumped her legs faster to intercept him. They neared one another at the bottom of the hill and her heart leapt into her throat when she recognized the broad shoulders and tall frame. Good Lord, of all the men she might meet, why Lord Ruthven?

He reached her seconds later and leapt from the saddle. “What has happened?”

Annabelle gripped her side and leaned forward in order to ease the cramp that twisted the muscle.

He seized her shoulders. “Are ye hurt?”

She shook her head. “Not me.” She drew a breath. “An accident—a man.”

His head snapped up, dark eyes scanning the road before they came back hard on her. “Where?”

“Off the road. Between the hills.”

He vaulted back into the saddle. “Which hills?”

“Half a mile,” she said. “Maybe a little less. East of the road, in a field.”

He frowned. “The road runs east and west, lass. On the left or right?”

“The right.” She pointed right. “Beyond the saddle.”

“That is my left,” he said in a mutter. “Come.” He extended a hand.

She stared, caught off guard.

He gave an impatient wave of his fingers to indicate she should take his hand. “Ye can ride?”

Annabelle scowled. “Of course.” 

She grasped his hand and barely had time to yank up her dress before he pulled her into the saddle behind him. Annabelle threw her arms around his waist to keep from slipping off, then clamped tight when the reins snapped and the animal lunged forward. Her cheek, pressed tight against his muscled back, warmed through his cloak. Surely, he must notice the pounding of her heart? Cold air whipped across her face. Annabelle shivered. The sky had grown darker in the few minutes since her discovery and a misty rain still fell.

“Where is he?” Ruthven shouted when they’d gone a quarter of a mile.