Highland Rogue (17 page)

A while later, he emerged in dry clothes, all washed, brushed and eager for a little company. He wanted to find out what had happened around Strathandrew since he’d left. Claire might think time stood still in these parts, but she saw it only for a few weeks every year or so. Mrs. Arbuthnot was such a stickler for “maintaining standards,” Ewan doubted anything had changed in the household routine during her tenure.

But even the Talbot’s grim housekeeper could not hold back time. Bairns sprouted up into lads and lasses, took a fancy to one another, wed in the village kirk and had families of their own. Meanwhile, their folks grew older and their grandfolks died. There were good harvests and bad, special celebrations, local jokes and minor scandals—all the events that made up the life of a community.

Ewan was anxious to catch up on all of it.

He ducked out of his room, easing the door closed behind him with furtive quietness. Out in the hushed gallery, delicious smells of Rosie’s cooking wafted through the breathless air. Ewan followed them to the back stairs. He tread softly, almost on tiptoe, and kept glancing behind him, as if he expected to be caught intruding, and ordered away.

Once he reached the back stairs, principally used by the servants for their discreet comings and goings, he began to relax and feel more at home.

On his way down, he met one of the upstairs maids with a pile of linen in her arms. When she saw him, she gave a strangled squeak of fright and fumbled her load. Ewan swooped to catch the pristine sheets and towels before they tumbled all over the stairs.

“Thank ye, sir.” In the faint light from the landing window, the lass’s face looked as bleached as the linens. “Is there anything ye’re wanting, sir? Ye only have to ring and somebody will come straightaway.”

It wasn’t possible to summon or demand what he was looking for. “I have everything I need, thank ye, lass. I just wanted to poke my nose below stairs for a wee visit.”

She looked at him as if he were clean daft, but all she said was, “As ye like, sir.”

Then she bobbed a quick curtsy and headed up the stairs as Ewan continued down.

At the bottom of the steps, he pushed open the swinging door that led to the servants’ hall. The long table at one end of the big room was laid for supper, but there was no sign of anyone sitting in the assortment of armchairs and rockers clustered around the hearth at the near end.

Beyond the servants’ hall, Ewan could see folks scurrying about in the kitchen, and heard the clatter of pots and pans. The succulent aromas of onions and beef and the mellow fragrance of toasted oats made his mouth water.

He headed toward a side table where Rosie McMurdo was beating some pale yellow froth in a bowl with vigorous strokes. She was concentrating so hard on her task that she didn’t even notice him swoop in to plant a quick peck on her plump cheek.

“What’s for dinner, Rosie? It smells like heaven!”

Rosie shrieked and her spoon flew up, splashing tiny gobbets of batter all over Ewan’s coat, face and hair.

“What are ye trying to do, ye young rogue?” she cried, her fists planted on her ample hips. “Scare a body to death?”

“Sorry, Rosie!” He scraped a bit of batter off his chin, then licked it off his finger. “Mmm! I’ve waited ten years to taste yer cooking again. I’ve never had better, in all the time I’ve been gone.”

The cook’s vexed look softened. “Oh, get away with ye! I reckon ye’ve had fine meals in those fancy eating places in America.”

“Aye, a few.” And at the estates of some of his business associates. He’d never developed a taste for rich fare, however. “It all lacked something in the flavor, though.”

Just then, Ewan realized how quiet the kitchen had fallen. He glanced around to find several of the junior servants frozen in place at their tasks, as if they were playing some sort of parlor game. He followed their stares back to the kitchen door, where Mrs. Arbuthnot stood.

“Back to work, all of ye,” she snapped. “We have a meal to prepare, or have ye forgotten?”

Her gaze, as cold as a loch in February, turned upon Ewan. “Is there something ye require, sir? There is a bell in yer room, or did Alec forget to inform ye?”

“He told me.” Ewan wondered how he could still feel cowed by a woman he could buy and sell a thousand times over. “And I remember how the bells work. I just thought I’d pop down for a bit of company.”

“Ye look as if ye could use another change of clothes before dinner.” Mrs. Arbuthnot couldn’t have appeared more disgusted if he’d been covered head to toe in fish guts or sheep muck.

“That’s my fault,” said Rosie. She pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket, then reached up to wipe Ewan’s cheek. “It was kind of ye to drop in for a visit, lad. Another time, maybe, when it’s not so busy down here?”

“Aye, Rosie. Sorry to get in yer way.”

As he strode back out past the housekeeper, Ewan heard the sounds of the kitchen pick up where they’d left off. He spotted one of the Gowrie brothers sitting near the hearth with a Bible open on his knees. Ewan considered sitting down for a chat with him, just to vex Mrs. Arbuthnot. Then Fergus, the gamekeeper, glanced up with a scowl that informed Ewan his company was not wanted.

He wondered why. Mrs. Arbuthnot had never much cared for him when he’d been a servant here, so her cold welcome came as no surprise. He’d expected better from Fergus, the man who had taught him to shoot and fish.

Pushing open the back stairs door and returning to his room, Ewan knew for certain he had lost his old place at Strathandrew. If he was to have any company at all until Tessa arrived, it would have to be her sister’s.

“Oh my.” Claire set down her fork after a course of braised beef only to have the dish replaced by one bearing tender white scallops in cream sauce. “Mrs. McMurdo has outdone herself in your honor, Ewan. I hope you’re enjoying it as much as you anticipated.”

“Oh, aye.” He glanced up at her from across the table and smiled. But his voice sounded less enthusiastic than she’d expected. “I never could find a cook in America who knew how to make
partan bree.”

“The crab soup? Yes, it was marvelous.”

“I reckon no one could have made it quite like Rosie, anyway.” Ewan lifted a plump scallop on his fork, then closed his eyes, the better to relish its subtle flavor. “Nor queenies so tender.”

He sounded appreciative, yet subdued, somehow.

Could it be on account of their earlier quarrel? Could he truly believe she didn’t
want
his company? If only he knew how she craved it!

The rain pattered against the large windows that afforded a breathtaking view of the loch in better weather. A small but warm fire crackled in the hearth, making the large formal dining room feel almost cosy. Their seating arrangement contributed to the intimacy of the meal. Until her sister and stepmother arrived, Claire had ordered places to be set for her and Ewan across from one another in the middle of the long table.

“I hope you found the accommodations to your liking?” She worried that her question might sound too stilted or insincere. It was one of those things a hostess was obliged to ask her guests. “I believe Mrs. Arbuthnot put you in Father’s old room.”

Ewan laughed, and a spark of impudent charm flared in his eyes. “I wondered why such a comfortable room made my hackles rise. Yer father’s likely spinning in his grave at the notion of me sleeping in his bed.”

A most disrespectful thought popped into Claire’s head. “His ghost may be speeding north as we speak to haunt you tonight!”

A tightness within her eased as they laughed together over that absurd notion. A tightness so old and deeply ingrained, she had come to take it for granted as part of her nature. It frightened her a little to begin to let go of it.

“What do ye say?” Ewan’s mischievous grin dared her. “Will ye come for a walk with me tomorrow, if the weather’s fine? Torment that old ghost a bit by keeping company with a humble gillie boy? Please, as a favor to me?”

Where was the harm in it? Claire asked herself as she tried not to lose herself in his beseeching gaze. Ewan truly seemed to want her company.

Why not indulge in a few of her old dreams? Pretend he had come to Strathandrew as her beau, instead of Tessa’s? Despite that meaningless kiss on the deck of the
Marlet,
there was no way she could hope to lure Ewan away from her sister. Nor did she want to, if Tessa truly cared for him. Indulging in a day or two of make-believe would take nothing away from Tessa, therefore it could not be disloyal.

“I suppose you know how difficult you are to refuse when you use that look on a woman?”

Ewan replied with a grin that was equally difficult to resist. “I practice it in the mirror every morning while I shave.”

“Indeed?” Something strange and intoxicating bubbled inside Claire. For the first time in her life, she was flirting with a man … and enjoying it. “How very diligent of you.”

“So it is.” He was flirting back—the rogue! No doubt because he knew neither of them meant to take it seriously. “Surely a captain of industry like yerself will want to reward diligence?”

“And enterprise.” Claire postponed her inevitable answer by popping another plump queenie into her mouth. “Very well, then. If the weather is fine, I’ll come. Even your considerable arts of persuasion could not induce me to roam about Highland hills in the rain.”

“It’s a bargain, then!” He looked so vastly pleased, Claire could not help feeling flattered. “I’ll ask Rosie to pack us up a lunch, and tell Fergus we’d like a pony to carry it,” he added.

“Dear me! How enormous a lunch are you planning to take, that we’ll need a pony to haul it?”

“Tramping the hills is hungry work.” Ewan finished off the last of his scallops and washed them down with a drink of wine. “We’ll want a rug to sit on while we eat. And in case ye get tired, ye can always ride on the way back.”

“What makes you so certain I’ll get tired?” It was the sort of question to which she would have demanded an answer in their youth. Now Claire asked out of amusement rather than indignation. “Have you done much tramping the hills in America these past ten years? Why, I may need to hoist you over the pony’s back to fetch you home tomorrow.”

“So ye might, lass.” Ewan raised his glass to her, then drained it.

“Whereabouts are you planning to take me?” she asked, as the maid replaced her empty plate with a delectable looking confection of whipped cream, raspberries and toasted oats.

“Someplace special,” was all Ewan would tell her before he fell upon his saucer of trifle and devoured every last morsel.

He did not add any blatant flattery about a special place for special company, but she sensed he meant it. Hard as she tried, she could not help feeling flattered.

Until the moment Claire had asked him where he meant to take her, he’d had a different destination in mind. He’d meant to delay a visit to Linn Riada until Tessa could accompany him. Just then, Ewan knew he could not wait another day. Nor could he escape the conviction that Claire would appreciate the place more than her sister.

Ewan set down his pudding spoon with a sigh of keen anticipation richly rewarded. Only the thought of how Mrs. Arbuthnot might gloat over such crude manners kept him from licking his saucer clean of his favorite
cranachan
pudding.

“A splendid meal!” Claire touched her lips with her napkin, then set it beside her own well-scraped saucer. She turned to the serving maid. “Do convey our compliments to Mrs. McMurdo.”

The lass gave a silent, smiling nod as she collected the dishes.

“Having plates come back to the scullery empty is the best compliment ye can give Rosie,” said Ewan.

How well he remembered the cook anxiously watching dishes return below stairs—exulting over the empty ones and taking barely touched plates as a grievous insult to her skill and effort. Sometimes he had waylaid serving staff on the back stairs and gobbled up the leftover food on several plates just to spare Rosie’s feelings.

Claire rose from her seat. “I’ll retire so you can enjoy your brandy. Feel free to make use of the billiard room.”

She motioned to a set of elaborately carved double doors behind him. “It’s just through there.”

Ewan got to his feet. “I know where it is.”

“You do?”

“Aye. In the old days, I used to catch the odd glimpse through the windows of his lairdship and guests playing.”

Since he could fish and shoot better than any of the gentleman, billiards had represented a skill that set them apart from him. Once he’d begun to make his fortune, he had set to work mastering it.

“I beg your pardon.” Claire winced. “I should have asked if you play.”

Perhaps. But he liked that she’d assumed he could. “Oh, aye. I’m good, too.”

Claire’s chagrin evaporated in a gust of laughter, as if she understood what that signified, and sympathized. “A pity my father isn’t here so you could challenge him to a game.”

She did understand.

“Why don’t ye take his place, then?”

“Me? You must be joking!”

“Why not? I can’t very well play without an opponent.”

That made her stop and think. “I suppose not, but I’d be no good to you. I haven’t the least notion how to play.”

“I could teach ye.” He used the tone and look that had persuaded her to come walking with him.

For a moment she seemed almost ready to agree. Then she drew back, shaking her head. “Billiards is a man’s game.”

“Aye. So’s running one of the biggest shipbuilding firms in the country. Ye mastered that quick enough, and I’ll bet ye didn’t have as good a teacher as me.”

Claire’s perpetually guarded look relaxed and her fine, clear eyes sparkled. “Your modesty is touching!”

How beautiful she looked! And how much he wanted to make her laugh again. “Modesty’s an overrated virtue.”

As she chuckled at his quip, Ewan knew how Rosie McMurdo must feel when a whole tray of plates arrived back in the scullery, picked clean.

“Come on, now.” He pressed his advantage. “It’s not like tossing the caber. There’s nothing about billiards that should give a man an advantage over a woman. It’s all in the precision of yer shots and yer strategy.”