Beguiled (15 page)

“The cleric may know something more, and if we're fortunate, he'll lead us to her. Shall we stop in Trongate on our way to the mill, or will your pastor take offense?”

“I shouldn't think so.” With a dip of his head, he indicated her shoulder. “You'll have a scar, but not a bad one.”

Agnes strained to look, but couldn't see the wound. “I'll accept your word on it that my husband won't be repulsed.”

His voice dropped. “If he does, have him visit me.”

“What will you say to him?”

“That he should not complain, because I'm very practiced in medicinal stitchery.”

“On whom did you practice?”

“Whom?” As if she were completely daft, he said, “On an orange.”

Taken aback, she drilled him with a cold stare. “Are you suggesting that my skin is like that of an orange, and before you answer, I remind you that we are under truce.”

He blew out his breath and studied the ceiling. “Shall I explain to you the scientific reasons why your skin is similar to the peel of an orange?”

Fighting the urge to huff in disdain, she said, “Only if I shan't be offended by it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Pardon me, but I cannot predict
all
of your sensibilities. No mortal man could.”

She did sound missish. “In that case, I do not think I wish to know how you mastered a needle and thread.”

“Good,” he said with finality. “I believe we can dispense with the sling when you are here, but for the next week or so, I'd like for you to wear it when you leave the house. You're healing remarkably well.”

She almost said that it was because she had a remarkable doctor, but the tension between them had momentarily abated. Better she broached an innocent topic. “Auntie Loo said you helped the carpenters working in the tower. Does that mean you've forsaken your laboratory?”

He raked his sleeves down and fastened the shell buttons at his wrists. “I've made some progress, but my theory is flawed, and I haven't the time now to find out where and why.”

A scientist. He didn't look like any of the professors and inventors she'd ever seen. “Tell me more about your engine. What is it designed to do?”

“I'll show you tomorrow at the mill. Now tell me how you came to know this Mr. Trimble.”

She pictured the efficient Haskit Trimble. “He was an officer in Her Majesty's Fourth of Foot. He received honors for his service during the battle for the American colonies. Something there changed him, but he would not say what or how. After the surrender, he cashiered himself out and ventured upon a career of information gathering.”

“Never have I heard of such an occupation.”

“All of his work is not intrigue such as we face. To hear him tell it, he's often mired in the mundane. A vicar with an eligible daughter might engage Trimble to verify the reputation of an interested suitor. That, I believe, is the crux of his work.”

“When next I engage a nanny, I'll be sure to visit Trimble first.” He stood and offered a hand. “Shall we see if my children have perfected kite flying?”

“Oh, aye. Let's do.” Agnes preceded him through the door. As they walked, she said, “Does Christopher have a fencing master?”

“Yes, I'm teaching him myself.”

That caught her attention. “I know something about the sport. Perhaps we could practice.”

“Not until you are completely well. I will not be accused of taking unfair advantage of you.”

She almost argued that she could better wield a foil using her left hand but decided against it. Teasing him was more fun. “You've done very well at taking unfair advantage of me, if my memory serves.”

“Oh? Refresh my recollection.”

“Absolutely not, and there's no reason to broach the subject again.”

“But I've only begun, and I like having the advantage over you.”

T
HAT NIGHT, AFTER A NEAR
feast of fresh mutton shank spitted over the hearth, crusty scones, and potatoes roasted in ashes, Edward stretched as he led Agnes to the chessboard. He'd moved the gaming table into the tower earlier in the day. Everyone had dressed in medieval attire, and coupled with the close quarters of the common room, the evening had taken on a friendly intimacy. Thank the saints, Agnes hadn't worn that fetching green gown tonight, for certain defeat at any game awaited Edward if he were subjected to another lengthy display of her womanly charms.

Auntie Loo sat with Christopher and Hannah near the hearth, teaching them to weave cricket baskets. The staff had retired. Guards patrolled the estate.

After defeating Agnes twice at chess, Edward refilled their mugs with cider and relaxed on the bench. He thought his wins had been too easy; he'd had the impression that she'd lost to him apurpose.

The cloying odor of roses filled the circular room, fouling the exotic fragrance of her hair and reminding Edward that a certain viscount had, according to his messenger, picked the bouquet of flowers from his garden himself for Lady Agnes.

“You've had gifts and well wishes from every eligible nobleman from here to Inverness in the north, Dumfries in the south, and Perwickshire in the east. No suitors in the west?”

A teasing light twinkled in her eyes. “Have the fishes begun to court?”

He had meant the Western Isles, but she knew that. Drawing her out posed a challenge Edward relished. “ 'Twill take some maneuvering on my part to keep the swains from rioting outside Napier House.”

“I'm sure it's Lottie's doing. I was abroad for almost a year the last time.” Agnes swept off the garland of heather and rubbed her temples. “She must have located a new crop of eligibles—a litter of fresh pups, as Mary says. Lottie will have told them the particulars about my dowries.”

“You have more than one?”

“Aye, the duchess of Enderley endowed me with lands in France.”

She looked damsel-like in the simple clothing of medieval times, the fitted surcoat, her hair hanging to her hips, and a long, golden cord tied around her waist. But the mischief she'd worked on him with that green gown begged for retribution.

He propped an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his palm. “Sounds as if you'll be popular.”

“I've acknowledged their gifts and politely discouraged their pursuit.”

He couldn't recall the moment earlier today, but at some point during the removal of those stitches, he'd ceased thinking of her as his patient. It was just as well, considering both the ease with which she lifted the mug and the decidedly intimate turn his thoughts had taken. “If your suitors persist, I'll be tempted to ask his grace of Ross for advice.”

“Do and he will descend on Glasgow to convey his advice personally.”

Edward had only wanted to tease her. The last complication he needed now was a visit from the most reformed rogue in the Highlands.

Agnes eased her legs over the bench. “I yield, my lord. You've tromped me roundly.”

Auntie Loo and Christopher still sat near the hearth. Slumping in the master's chair and clutching her new whistle, Hannah valiantly fought sleep.

Edward began repositioning the pieces. “You're a sporting loser.”

Bracing her arm on the table, she stood. “I learned that necessity early in life.”

Her golden hair fell around her in a gilded curtain, and the cord draping her hips dangled at an alluring spot. Edward wasn't ready to end the evening; too many questions about her remained unanswered. “Did your father teach you?”

“ 'Twas my sister Sarah. She has lost only once in her life.”

He wanted to ask what scent she'd worn tonight. Instead, he indicated the chessmen. “I think you lost apurpose to me.”

Over her shoulder, she said, “Tell him, Auntie Loo. I'm dreadful at board games.”

The Oriental woman rose and put away her unfinished basket. She wore a sunny yellow overdress, and her thick black hair was plaited in a single braid that hung to her knees. “Lady Lottie proclaims her older sister an embarrassment in the parlor.”

“Didn't I say so?” Agnes threaded the garland over her wrist and twirled it. “I'm also a sour note in the music room.”

Edward noticed that she used her right wrist with no small amount of dexterity. Her swift recovery baffled him. “Your arm doesn't hurt?”

Quietly, she said, “Not enough to require doctoring again.”

It was a sly reference to the intimate moments between them earlier in the day. “I heard no complaints from you at the time. Rather you confessed the need to purr.”

“I'm not purring now. I've recovered from that ailment, too.” Before he could comment, she said, “Good night, Auntie. I'll take the children up to bed.”

The Oriental woman moved toward the stairs.

Hannah straightened in the chair. “No.”

Edward braced himself for the battle to come. Hannah should have been asleep an hour ago, but the meal had been slow to cook and the cook slower to serve. A formal tour of the tower had taken more time.

In complete disobedience, his daughter banged her heels on the chair and shook her head. Christopher, bless him, put away his unfinished basket and headed up the new wooden stairs. He hadn't even balked at sharing the upper floor with his sister.

“May I help Hannah with her decision, my lord?” Agnes said.

He felt a prick of conscience but ignored it. Hannah knew few adults, and nannies had dried too many of her tears. Attention from Agnes MacKenzie could only help the lass.

“Hannah.” He stared at his daughter until her eyes met his. “Do you promise to behave?”

Pouting like the last of the forlorn, she gripped the chair arms and stared at her toes. Lady Agnes knelt before her and whispered something to the girl. Even from across the room, he could smell that enticing fragrance.

“Truly?” Hannah's eyes grew large, and a smile blossomed on her face.

The change was pure magic to Edward.

Patting the girl's leg, Agnes rose and returned to the chessboard. “Good night, my lord.”

“What did you tell her?” Edward asked.

Smiling, she toyed with the rope at her waist. “That you would buy her a pony.”

“A pony!” piped Hannah, bucking in the chair.

He almost choked on the wine. The great pony debate had been raging since the day Hannah learned to say the word. “You didn't promise her that?” he whispered harshly. “She cannot even play hopping stones without losing her balance.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Agnes chided. “There are conditions. She must continue to go to bed without a fret, or she cannot select the pony herself. I explained that we couldn't ask the stableman to bring a herd of animals here.”

If she couldn't pick it out, the pony wouldn't get bought. “That's devious.”

“Remember, there were four of us, each trying to outdo the others. Be it making mischief or hugging Papa good night, we all wanted to be first.”

The amber light from the old lamps bathed her in a golden glow. His fingers tingled with the need to explore the texture of her hair, to bury his face in it and languish in that heavenly smell. But there was more to discover about this Highland lass than the extent of her feelings for him. “Where were you in the MacKenzie pack?”

She tried for modesty and succeeded in radiance. “At the vanguard.”

The air between them grew heavy with apprehension, and he felt as if she were on the verge of leaning toward him. But she had not moved.

Hoping to change that, he said, “The same way you plunge into a pond?”

She had a clever sally for him, he knew; the excitement of it glittered in her eyes. An instant later the look was gone. With the garland draping her wrist, she walked her fingers across the chessboard. “Most often, Papa was a step ahead of us.”

He wanted to see that expression again and hear what she'd truly wanted to say. “At what age were you when you chose your first pony?”

She glanced at Hannah. “Five, but I earned the money to buy it for myself. Good night—”

“How?”

She hesitated but didn't look at him. “By standing guard over the stable lantern.”

What was her hurry? “Your father let you sleep in the stable?”

“Nay, I watched the lamp for two hours every afternoon. Twasn't even aflame at the time, but I was too short to see that high.”

An excellent way to teach a child discipline and responsibility and give a parent a reprieve. Edward couldn't imagine life in the MacKenzie family; Hannah and Christopher were challenge enough for him. “The more I know about your father, the more I like him.”

“Should you truly wish to see him at his best, ask him how Mary fares. Good night again, my lord.”

Edward knew finality when he heard it. “I'll bank the fire.” He put his tankard on the table, extinguished the lamp, and went to the hearth.

She glided away, her slippers swish-swishing on the new stairs. Overhead the old chandelier cast a wavering circle of shadows on the stone ceiling. Earlier, while awaiting the meal, Edward had allowed Christopher and Hannah to light one taper each before the wheel was again hoisted into the air. The candles were spent. The tower quiet.

The kite, fashioned from the pages of yesterday's
Glasgow Courant,
rested on the cabinet below one of the four arrow slits in the outer wall of the tower. Sharpened axes and a broadsword were mounted high on the wall, out of the reach of the children, same as the new crossbows perched above the low door.

His children were safe in this old fortress. The magistrate offered small hope of locating the bowman, but with the help of his beguiling houseguest and her man Trimble, Edward would find the assassin.

Edward gave the coals a final tamp, replaced the fire iron, then moved to the door. Even as he grasped the handle, he changed his mind. Work waited in his laboratory, but he hadn't the attention for it tonight. He knew he couldn't sleep; so he sat in the chair that Hannah had vacated. Silence descended, save the faint ticking of a clock from the chamber upstairs. Seated comfortably outside the pool of firelight, Edward let his thoughts wander.