Highland Rogue (16 page)

“Not at all, miss.” Mrs. Arbuthnot kept glancing toward the yacht. “We make the house ready for yer coming every summer.”

Ewan caught one of the parlor maids rolling her eyes. He could imagine the staff’s annoyance at having to go to all that extra work for nothing.

As Claire moved on to greet the cook, Mrs. Arbuthnot cleared her throat to draw her mistress’s attention. “Did Lady Lydiard and Miss Tessa not accompany you, after all, Miss Talbot? I thought your wire said all three of you would be coming, as well as your guest.”

“I expect my sister and stepmother will be arriving within the next day or two by train,” said Claire.

“Shortly before we sailed, I received word that Tessa was indisposed and that they would follow as soon as they could.

“I beg your pardon.” Claire turned toward Ewan. “I must introduce an honored visitor to Strathandrew, though he is hardly a stranger.”

Catching Rosie McMurdo’s eye, Ewan flashed her a wide smile.

“Ewan Geddes!” cried Rosie. She squeezed between Claire and the dumbfounded Mrs. Arbuthnot to throw her arms around him. “Ye look such a fine gentleman, I almost didn’t recognize ye, laddie!”

“Cook!” the housekeeper gasped. “Mr. Geddes is Miss Talbot’s guest.”

“Oh dear!” Rosie pulled back, all red and flustered. “I was so surprised to see the dear lad, I clean forgot.”

Ewan grabbed her plump hands before she could get away, and pulled her toward him again. “Thank ye for the warm welcome, Rosie!”

He stooped to plant a hearty kiss on her cheek, savoring Mrs. Arbuthnot’s disapproving look. “I was afraid there might be nobody at Strathandrew who remembered me.”

“Not remember ye?” Rosie dismissed such a daft suggestion. “After the letters ye sent and all the—”

“I hope ye’ll remember some of my favorite dishes and cook them while I’m here.” Ewan interrupted her before she could mention the money he’d sent. “I haven’t yet met a cook in America who can make
partan bree
or a proper Dundee cake.”

The mention of victuals proved a perfect distraction for Rosie.
“Partan bree?
Bless me, lad, yes! I’ll have to get ye fattened up while ye’re here. Aught ye have a hankering for, just let me know and I’ll make it.”

The housekeeper cleared her throat again. “I believe we have already discussed the menus, Cook.”

An angry retort rose to Ewan’s lips, but before he could spit it out, Claire spoke up. “Surely the preferences of our guests should always dictate our bill of fare, Mrs. Arbuthnot. Why come to Scotland to dine as if we were still in London?”

“As ye wish, miss.” The housekeeper’s lips pinched together.

Ewan struggled to keep a cocky grin off his face. “Good to see ye again, Mrs. Arbuthnot. Ye haven’t changed a bit.”

In her case, that wasn’t a compliment.

She replied with a wordless curtsy so stiff it looked as though her joints might be in danger of snapping.

The Gowrie brothers looked little changed by the passing years, either, though Fack might have been a tad more stooped and Fergus a touch more grizzled. The gardener appeared almost as glad to see Ewan as Rosie had, while the gamekeeper gave him a welcome barely a degree warmer than the housekeeper’s.

As Claire greeted and introduced the junior staff, Ewan basked in their looks of wonderment. He could imagine how he would have felt at their age, seeing a former servant like himself risen to the dizzying social height of honored guest of the Talbots.

Introduced to the round-eyed young gillie, he gave the lad a warm handshake. “Would ye let me borrow yer fly-tying gear for a bit, to see if I can remember how it’s done?”

“Aye, sir! Will ye be doing some fishing while ye’re here? The trout are big this year. A lot of fight in ’em, too!”

“I’m looking forward to getting a rod in my hands again.” The prospect brought a smile to Ewan’s lips. “Clears the mind, fly-fishing does. Nothing better.”

Claire moved on down the line to a bonny young lass with rich auburn hair pinned up under her cap and a peculiar little smirk on her face, as if she knew an amusing secret.

“This is our newest parlor maid,” said Claire. “Rosie’s daughter, Glenna.”

“Not wee Glenna!” In spite of his denial, he scooped her off her feet and twirled her around. “Why, ye’ve changed enough to make up for all the rest, lass. Ye make me feel old just to look at ye.”

“Welcome home, Ewan.” Glenna stepped back in line, her pretty face flushed a bright red. “Don’t let Ma torment ye about being too thin. Ye look just fine. Like a proper laird.”

Her compliment stirred a strange brew of contrary feelings in Ewan. For years he’d dreamed of this day—returning in a triumph of wealth and success to the estate from which he’d been banished in disgrace. Now, as he glanced from Glenna McMurdo to Claire Talbot, he felt as if he had lost his old place and no longer fit in anywhere.

Watching Ewan swing the young parlor maid around in his arms, Claire tried to ignore a ridiculous stab of jealousy. She had no claim on the man, after all. And it was obvious the only feelings he entertained toward Glenna McMurdo were a kind of brotherly fondness. Besides, if Claire were foolish enough to envy his attentions to another woman, that woman should be her sister.

For as long as she could recall, Claire had fought against feelings of jealousy toward Tessa. And she had always managed to conquer them. She was not about to poison the one truly loving relationship she’d ever known by giving in to them now.

Once Ewan set Glenna McMurdo back on her feet, Claire turned to introduce him to the rest of the staff, but Mrs. Arbuthnot suddenly appeared at her elbow.

“Begging your pardon, miss, but you might wish to postpone further introductions.” She pointed toward the thick, black-bottomed clouds the wind had blown in from the Atlantic.

“Indeed.” Claire recalled the capricious Highland weather. “Mr. Geddes is hardly a stranger to Strathandrew. Let us all get indoors before the skies open on us.”

The staff needed no further orders to turn and flee up the winding path to the house, the young footmen and gardeners dashing off in the lead, trailed closely by the maids, who hiked their skirts up to make better haste. The cook and the housekeeper followed, Mrs. McMurdo puffing along, while Mrs. Arbuthnot glided beside her. The Gowrie brothers brought up the rear, seeming in no hurry, perhaps because they were accustomed to being outdoors in all weather.

Ewan had not appeared anxious to be on his way, either. But once all the servants had gone, he offered Claire his arm. “That rain’s going to take a while to fall yet, I reckon. And we can change clothes at our leisure if we have to. May I escort ye up to the house, Miss Talbot?”

Claire told herself she was quite capable of walking without his assistance. And she should not indulge in any unnecessary contact with him.

In spite of that, she heard herself reply, “You certainly may. Thank you.”

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. For a moment she allowed her good intentions to slip. She savored his nearness and the sweet illusion that he belonged to her.

“Was I right?” she asked. “Has the place changed much from the way you remember it?”

To her, it felt as if time had slipped backward and she was living out an old dream—walking up from the wharf with Ewan Geddes, arm in arm. Not that her father ever would have permitted it. Nor would the handsome young gillie have offered. He’d have been too busy making sheep’s eyes at Tessa, who barely noticed him.

“Changed?” Ewan shook his head and chuckled. “Not any amount. It might look a bit smaller than I recollect. That’s about all.

“Now, then …” He reached over with his free hand to pat hers. “How do ye propose we entertain ourselves until the rest of our party arrives?”

Her stomach roiled with shame at his reminder that Tessa and Lady Lydiard would soon be joining them. She had no business indulging in a ten-year-old fancy for the man her sister intended to marry. During their youth, Claire had allowed herself to yearn for Ewan Geddes—only because Tessa had not returned his feelings.

Now that she did, and now that it was clear he had no designs on Tessa’s fortune, Claire must lock away those old feelings and never let them back out on any account.

It would not be easy, though.

The jumble of conflicting feelings within her made her answer more sharply than she intended. “You’re no longer a servant here, Ewan. You are not obliged to keep me amused. I expect we are both well used to entertaining ourselves, and there will be plenty for you to do at Strathandrew.”

Even through the fabric of his coat, she could feel the flesh of his arm grow tense. When she risked a fleeting glance at his face, his dark brows signaled stormy emotions as surely as the sky’s dark clouds forecast rain.

“Do ye need to remind
me
that I’m a guest, not a servant?” he growled. “Or yerself, Claire?”

The man was clearly infuriated. Though why, she could not work out.

He shook off her hand and spun about to confront her. “Were ye only willing to suffer my company on the
Marlet
to keep me from jumping ship again? Now that we’re at yer fine estate, ye’re warning me to keep my distance?”

Claire barely stifled a shriek. The man was as exasperating as he was … compelling!

“How did you ever come to such a ridiculous conclusion?” She stood far too close to him, trading glare for glare. “I was trying to spare you the burden of having to dance attendance on me. Only you could find an insult in that!”

“I’ve never
danced attendance
on anyone,” he informed her in a tone of scorn. “And I’m not about to start. Besides, keeping ye company isn’t the same as dancing attendance. Only
ye
would reckon that a burden on a man. I’m here to tell ye it’s not, when ye make an effort to be sociable.”

It was not much of a compliment, compared to the lavish flattery she’d received over the years. Why, then, did it make her breath catch high in the back of her throat and her knees feel suddenly weak?

Claire knew the answer, but she could not bring herself to accept it, as a gust of rain-laden wind sent them scurrying for the shelter of the house.

By the time Ewan and Claire stumbled into the entry hall of Strathandrew, gasping for breath, they were almost as wet as when they’d been hauled back aboard the
Marlet
from the lifeboat. It seemed nature was prepared to throw cold water on the pair of them whenever they fell to bickering.

The formal elegance of the entry hall and the critical stare of the housekeeper discouraged Ewan from shaking himself like a wet hound.

“Ye’ll want to change into dry clothes before dinner.” Mrs. Arbuthnot’s hushed murmur somehow carried the weight of an order. Her frigid gaze fixed on him, as if accusing him of getting soaked on purpose.

She beckoned a young footman forward. “Alec, show the gentlem—Show Miss Talbot’s guest to his room.”

As Ewan followed the young fellow up the broad staircase, he glanced back at Claire, who was removing her bedraggled hat. “I’ll see ye at dinner, then? Unless ye’d rather I make myself scarce?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “You’re a guest at Strathandrew. Of course I shall see you at dinner.”

“Just making sure.” He took the stairs two at a time to catch up with the footman.

The beautiful, bewigged lady whose portrait graced the first landing seemed to cast him a reproachful look. More fancy folk in silks, satins and lace looked down on him from the walls of the broad upstairs gallery. Ewan wondered if they might be generations of noble Talbot ancestors, contemplating with horror the trespass of a former servant within their domain.

“Been in service here long?” he asked the young footman. His voice erupted with ill-bred loudness in the refined hush of the gallery.

“Two years, sir.” The lad barely raised his voice above a whisper, as if he were in kirk.

“How are ye liking it?”

After a pause in which he seemed to weigh the wisdom of answering truthfully, the lad shrugged. “It was this or one of the Highland Regiments, sir. Here I can get home to see my folks now and then. The food’s first-rate and the work’s not that hard.”

Stopping before a fine mahogany door with gleaming brass knob and hinges, he opened it, then stood back to let Ewan enter.

On his way into the room, Ewan flashed the lad a jaunty wink. “And nobody’s shooting at ye.”

Young Alec grinned. “That’s in its favor, too, sir.”

“I used to think Mrs. A could hold her own with any bully of a sergeant in the Black Watch,” quipped Ewan.

The lad cast a nervous glance over his shoulder before he gave a muted chuckle.

Ewan’s own mirth caught in his throat. It wasn’t right that smart lads like Alec had so few opportunities in life beyond civilian or military servitude.

Having never known any different, the young footman didn’t seem to feel sorry for himself. “If ye want to get out of those wet clothes, sir, I’ll go fetch yer trunk.”

“A fine idea.” Ewan looked around for the dressing screen, but saw none in the richly appointed room.

It lacked nothing else for his comfort, from the dark green hangings on the massive four-poster bed, to the fireplace where a small blaze crackled in a cheery welcome. Still, something about the place made Ewan uneasy. All the more so because he could not put his finger on it.

The footman seemed to interpret his puzzled glance about. “The dressing room is right through there, Mr. Geddes, sir.” He pointed to the right-hand wall, where a door stood slightly ajar.

“Aye, of course,” said Ewan. “I should have noticed.”

“Glad to help, sir.” The lad turned to leave.

“Alec?”

“Aye, sir?”

“Ye can leave off with that ‘sir’ and ‘Mr. Geddes’ business. It makes me feel like a stranger. This is home to me. Here I’m plain Ewan.”

The lad’s ruddy face grew even redder. “No disrespect to yer wishes, sir. But if Mrs. A caught me talking that familiar with a guest, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I reckon ye wouldn’t.” Ewan’s shoulders sagged a bit as he headed for the dressing room.