Enraptured (5 page)

The door opened behind her, and Violet whirled almost guiltily. Coll once more filled the room with his presence. He was fully dressed now and clean shaven as well—though bearing a thin, red line across his jaw that she suspected might have been the cause for the curses she had heard earlier.

“I—um—was looking at the portrait.” Violet gestured vaguely toward it. “Did you draw it?”

“Aye. That's Meg.”

“She's beautiful.” The name tickled in Violet's brain. She stared. “Meg? You mean—isn't that the name in the earl's letter? His new wife?”

“Aye.” Coll grimaced. “She's Lady Mardoun now.”

Violet swung back to study the drawing again. She had been surprised to read in Mardoun's letter that he had married again. From her admittedly limited knowledge of the earl, he had not seemed a man who embraced the role of husband. That he had married a woman he'd met here—and after only a few weeks—made it even more curious. But now she understood. A woman as beautiful as this could turn the head of even the worldly Earl of Mardoun.

Was Coll in love with the earl's wife? Violet cast a speculative glance at him. He had gone to the fire to retrieve a kettle and was busy pouring water into it from a pitcher. The twist of his mouth when he said “Lady Mardoun” had indicated a certain displeasure, but he did not fit Violet's picture of a heartbroken man.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I have some of Sally McEwan's scones here, too.”

“No, thank you,” Violet said automatically, though her stomach rumbled in protest. She had been too eager this morning to wait for breakfast.

“You haven't tasted Sally's scones.” He set a basket on the table, folding back the cloth to reveal a pile of golden-brown cakes. “They're a bit of heaven.” He smiled, and a long dimple popped into one cheek, his blue eyes warm and vivid.

Violet smiled back, taking an unconscious step toward him before she pulled herself up short. Sitting down to a
companionable breakfast with the man was not the way to establish her authority and professionalism.

“I prefer to get to the ruins as soon as possible,” she said stiffly. “I must make my plans for excavation.”

Despite her refusal, Coll continued about his tasks, pouring two cups of tea and setting other small containers on the table. “Those ruins have been there for hundreds of years. I imagine they could wait another ten minutes.” He sat down, pushing the basket toward her. “Eat. Better to work on a full stomach.”

Violet clenched her teeth. Munro was clearly not going anywhere until he'd eaten. It was irritating, but it would be useless to argue with him. She could not force him to go, and losing the argument would only make her appear weak. Besides, what he had said was perfectly reasonable. And the scones looked delicious.

She perched on the chair across the table from him, pouring a bit of milk into her tea. The drink was hot and strong, and a pot of honey provided sweetness. Violet could not quite suppress a sigh of satisfaction after it slid down her throat.

Coll's eyes danced. “Wait till you've tasted the scones.”

Violet suspected uneasily that he was laughing at her, and she had no idea how to respond. She had never been good at making conversation. Her mother could chat for ten minutes without ever really saying anything, but she had been unable to instill that ability in her daughter.

There were no plates, no utensils, so she followed Coll's lead and simply plucked one of the scones from the basket, breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth. The bread was a delightful combination of tastes, at once buttery and
dry, sweet but with a twinge of tartness. It was, in short, as close to perfection as a bread could be. Violet couldn't hold back a smile.

“Dinna I tell you?” Coll asked with a chuckle.

Such good humor was in his tone that Violet's smile turned into a laugh as well. “Yes, you were right. Miss—McEwan, was it?—makes delicious scones. You are lucky to have such a generous friend.” She was blatantly fishing for information, but Violet was too curious to be polite. There seemed to be a number of women in Munro's life.

“You're lucky, too. Sally is the cook at Duncally. You'll eat her food every day. As do I—she takes pity on me, poor bachelor that I am, and lets me sup with them up at the house.”

“Oh. I will see you at supper tonight then.” Violet suppressed the fizz of anticipation in her chest.

“Nae. Mrs. Ferguson will serve you in the dining room. She's a stickler for propriety, that one. She wouldna put a lady at the table in the servants' hall.”

“Why? I work for Lord Mardoun, the same as you.”

“Ah, but your name has a
Lady
before it, and that makes all the difference.”

“It shouldn't.”

“Aye?” His brows rose lazily. “Then why did you use it last night?”

Violet grimaced. “You are right, of course. It was expedient. I did not want to lose the opportunity to explore the ruins.”

“Now dinna turn to starch again. I dinna mean to insult you.”

“I'm sorry. I was unaware I had ‘turned to starch.' It sounds a most uncomfortable state. But I am reminded of
my purpose here, which is not to sit about having tea and scones. I should be at the site.”

“We'll go, then.” Coll downed the rest of his tea in one swallow. But at that moment, a knock came at the door, and with a sigh Coll went to answer it.

A young man stood on the porch. “Coll, I came to ask—” He glanced past Coll into the house and saw Violet. His eyes widened comically. “Oh! I dinna ken—I'm sorry, miss, uh, ma'am, um . . .” His face flooded with red, and he whipped off his cap, bobbing his head toward Violet.

Following the young man's gaze, Coll stiffened, his expression suddenly so guilty that Violet was sure he had merely confirmed the other man's suspicions. Coll cleared his throat. “It's not what—”

A torrent of words rushed out of his visitor's mouth, cutting him off. “I'm sorry, Coll, I never thought. I mean, I wouldn't hae come if—it was just—” He twisted his cap between his hands.

Violet covered her mouth to hide a smile as Coll said something short and sharp under his breath and stepped out the door, pulling it almost closed behind him. “What is it, Dougal? The sun's barely up, man. Could you not wait?”

Violet gave way to giggles as the two men talked on the porch. She did her best to pull her face back into sober lines when Coll stepped back into the room, but her effort clearly failed, given the scowl Coll directed at her.

“You're laughing?”

She pressed her lips together, but somehow it only made her want to giggle more. “You looked—you looked so guilty!”

“I dinna,” he grumbled. “I thought
you
would be embarrassed. But clearly I dinna need to worry about that.”

“I can't control what other people think about me, Mr. Munro. I gave up worrying about it long ago.”

“But your reputation—”

“Is abysmal. I think we have already established that I don't act as a lady should. I am pushy and sharp-tongued and stubborn. What does it matter if people decide I'm a hussy as well? 'Tis you who should worry about blackening your reputation by associating with one such as I,” she said lightly, standing up. “Now, I think we really should be on our way, shouldn't we?”

He looked at her for a moment, and then, surprising her, he laughed. “Aye, I suppose we should.” Coll grabbed a coat from a hook on the wall and pulled it on as he ushered Violet out the door. “Easiest way to get there is to take the road.” He gestured through the tall gates. “There's also a path from the gardens behind the house. It's shorter, but a rougher walk. If you like, we can return that way.”

He set out with a long, easy stride that ate up the distance. Violet had to hurry to keep up with him, but she was accustomed to doing whatever was necessary to put her on an equal footing with the men her uncle taught.

“Do people often come to your door at dawn?” she asked, a little breathless but determined not to show it.

“I suppose they must since I had two of them this morning.” Coll cast her a teasing glance, then slowed his pace.

“There's no reason to go at a snail's pace for me,” Violet assured him, marching on at the same rate. Coll, looking amused, returned to his usual speed.

“To answer your question, no, they are not always so early. But it comes with running Duncally.” He sighed. “Dougal's wanting work for the winter while the croft's idle.
His wife's going to have a bairn in April, he says, and they need the money. His da's croft can't support them all as it is.”

“I would think they might have considered that before.”

“Aye, of course.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “But reason isna what's driving one at the time.” He stopped, looking chagrined. “I'm sorry. That's not fit talk for a lady's ears.”

“I think we've established I'm a lady only by birth,” she retorted. “I'm not easily shocked.”

The road leveled out, and Coll turned to the right. There before them were a group of long, weathered stones standing improbably on end.

“Oh!” Violet stopped abruptly, her breath catching. “A ring!” She turned to Coll, her face radiant. “I didn't realize! There is a circle of standing stones here as well!”

She hurried toward the ancient rocks as if drawn by some unseen force, her steps quickening until she was almost running.

V
iolet stopped as she reached
the first stone and took a long look around. “It's magnificent!”

The circle was almost intact, the stones placed at regular intervals with only one or two gaps. The long rocks were weathered and pitted, of some indeterminate color between white and gray, their arrangement slightly elliptical rather than perfectly round.

“Lord Mardoun did not mention a ring. I had no idea.” She glanced at Coll, who stood watching her. Violet suspected that he found her enthusiasm over the stones peculiar; people outside Lionel's scholarly circle usually did.

“You are interested in the ring as well as the ruins?”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “The circles were already standing here before the Romans reached Britain. So little is known about them. These antiquities interest me far more than the remains of the civilization the Romans left behind them. Such sites are uniquely
ours
. It is my hope that the ruins Lord Mardoun found will turn out to be that, as well.”

“Have you visited other circles?”

“Indeed. Stonehenge, of course, and some others. Ignorant and uncaring people have torn many stones down, and time and weather have taken their toll. But this ring is marvelous.” She swept her gaze over the area again. “I have never seen one with this configuration—these two stones outside the circle. Yet they are clearly set in a line with each other and with the ring. This one is most unique.”

Violet went closer to the odd stone. Standing several feet from the edge of the circle, it was little more than half as tall as the other towering rocks. In the center was a round hole larger than a person's fist.

“It goes all the way through.” She bent to peer into the opening.

“They call it the Troth Stone,” Munro offered, coming up beside her. “People would come here in the old days to handfast. That's a sort of marriage ceremony from before there were churches.” He glanced down at her with a faintly inquiring look.

“Yes, I've heard of handfasting.”

“Some still come here to plight their troth. They stand on either side of the stone and clasp hands through the middle as they pledge to marry each other.”

“Fascinating.” Violet regarded him with interest. “You seem very familiar with the customs and traditions.”

He shrugged. “I've lived here all my life.”

“Many people are unaware of that sort of history. Oral traditions are easily lost as one generation succeeds another.”

Munro smiled faintly. “Not if you're a Munro. My mother knew a lot, and she passed it on. But if you really want to know about this area, you canna do better than to talk to Aunt Elizabeth.”

“Your aunt? Would she speak with me?”

“Nothing she would like better. She knows every tale, every legend, true and fanciful alike. But she is not my aunt; we were just in the way of calling her that. She's Lady Elizabeth Rose, and she lives at Baillannan.” He gestured in a southerly direction. “The great, gray house on the other side of the loch.”

“I should very much like to meet her.”

“I will ask her, then, if you'd like.”

“I would appreciate it. It is . . . good of you to help.” Violet hesitated. “I must apologize, Mr. Munro.”

“You must?”

“Yes. I—it was rude of me last night not to thank you for helping me.”

“You're welcome.” He paused. “I was . . . rude, as well.”