Kissing the Countess (30 page)

"Imagine having to catch all those sheep to clip them and gather the wool for market," Catriona said, leaning forward a little. "And Highlanders are said to be so lazy—though I don't find it to be true, but I have never had to catch and clip sheep myself. Perhaps I would be a laggard, too, if I had to do that instead of sitting in my cozy wee house." She laughed lightly. "It is so inconvenient to hire Lowlanders to come up here to do the work seasonally."

"My dear," Evan said, taking her elbow and squeezing, "I think Sir Aedan is waiting to discuss some of the other portraits with you." He tried to move her away, but Catriona stood her ground. She was enjoying herself tremendously now, after her initial bout of fury with Evan. She felt certain and righteous, like a warrior queen defending her homeland from invaders.

"Lady Kildonan," Lord Wetherstone said, "how would you describe life in the Highlands, then? Would you recommend this as a place to live?"

"I love it here, and personally I would never leave it.
Ever,"
she answered, pulling her elbow out of Evan's grip. "But I am a strong and healthy woman raised to this place. I walk everywhere, several miles a day, over many hills. Life is a bit more rustic here, but we are used to it."

"R-rustic?" Lady Wetherstone inquired, likely still thinking about roasted mice.

"I have not known many of the benefits and conveniences that Southerners enjoy on a daily basis, but then I do not miss them. We bring up most of our supplies and foodstuffs regularly from the markets at Inverness or Fort William, as our kitchen gardens can be meager. If you enjoy oranges or lemons or bananas, you will have to pay dearly for them. And if you like good roads to handle a sociable or even a gig—well, you could speak with Sir Aedan and see what he advises," she added, smiling. "Oh, and regular postal service, recent newspapers, and even English-speaking staff and merchants are hard to come by here. And the Gaelic culture of the remote Highlands can seem like a foreign country to outsiders. Is that a problem?"

"Oh, my," Lady Wetherstone said, glancing at her husband.

"May I ask why you're interested?" Catriona inquired sweetly. "Are you thinking of taking a longer holiday in the area?" She slid an intent glance toward Evan.

"My dear," he said in a near hiss, "thank you. I think you've been quite enough help." He turned her firmly with a hand at her waist. "Mrs. Wilkie looks to be in need of rescue. Sir Aedan and Reverend Wilkie are discussing salmon fishing."

"So nice to speak with you, Lady Wetherstone, Lord Wetherstone. Let's continue our wee chat tomorrow." She inclined her head and turned, skirt swirling.

Evan still had a hand at her waist, and he bent low. "I do hope we can continue our wee chat tonight," he murmured, and his tone had a distinct, new edge.

"I look forward to it, to be sure," she said between her teeth, and glided out of his grip.

* * *

"O! Si run mo cheill'a bh'ann,"
Catriona sang, pacing back and forth on the worn carpet in the little sitting room.
"Hu ill o-ho-ro, hu ill o!"
She repeated the phrases again, singing them softly and intently to herself.
"O! Si run mo cheill'a bh'ann!
Oh, my secret love was she..."

Dashing to the little table by the armchair, she picked up a pencil and scribbled the musical notation on the page. She sang the phrases again, whispering, her fingers going softly in the air as if on the keys of a pianoforte. "Oh, my secret love was she,
Hu ill o-ho-rol
" Biting her lip, she nodded to herself in time with the music in her head.

The hour was late, but she was not tired, especially after that tense exchange with Evan earlier. Once the guests had retired for the night, she had paced her room, waiting for Evan's knock. When it did not come, she had gone to his door.

Taking a breath, she knocked. He had not answered, and when she opened the door she found he was not there. All her courage in finally knocking on his door had been for naught.

Unable to sleep, she had turned to her work. Days ago, she and Evan had burned several pages of her songs to keep the fire going in the little shieling hut. She had not found much time since to write down the tunes again. Taking up the work now diffused her agitation and focused her energies. Four of the lost songs were captured again, though she had nearly paced a path in the worn Turkish carpet.

And still he had not come back.

"My secret love was she," she sang again in translation, and left the refrain for the next verse. Fingers flying in the air, for that helped her to transcribe the music, she scribbled down more of the tune, then wrote the next few Gaelic lines, singing them, then translating them and singing them again. "Lips like raspberries, mouth like wine..."

"Oh, my secret love was she," Evan sang softly.

Catriona jumped, dropped her pencil. He stood in the open doorway of his room, filling the frame, his shoulder leaned on the jamb, his opposite hand propped against the lintel. He wore the black jacket, waistcoat, and kilt he had worn at supper, but his neckcloth was gone, his collar open. His hair was mussed, and his eyes gleamed.

"What a bonny wee song," he said. "My secret love was she.
Hu ill o-ho-ro, hu ill o..."

He sang it in perfect pitch, his voice deep and mellow, its true quality sending shivers through her. She had not known he could sing.

She had never seen him drunk, either. She stood.

He leaned his weight heavily on his hand, lowered his head, and fastened her with an intense gaze from under dark brows.

"An excellent Highland tune," he said. "Sing it after dinner next, will you? Our guests will be so entertained.
Hu ill o, my secret love was she.
A wee touch of the Highland flavor here at Kildonan, provided by our own Lady Kildonan."

She walked toward him.

"Lips like raspberries," he sang low. "Mouth like wine... What was the rest?" he asked. "Hair like fire? Temper like... ah, the terrible storms that sweep in from the islands? The ones that blow the roofs off the houses? The ones you climb up into the hills to see—when you are not lost," he ground out, "or fevered, or busy consuming mice."

"You've been drinking," she said, folding her hands tightly.

"Aye, thank you," he said, and he pushed away from the door. "Does the minister's daughter disapprove? The same minister's daughter that fed it to me by the spoonful not so long ago and enjoyed a wee dram herself, before she got out of her clothes?"

She lifted her chin and clasped her hands in silence.

"Madam, pardon me, that was poorly done," he murmured.

"It was," she agreed. "My disapproval depends on what was consumed, how much—and whether it is a habit."

"Whisky, enough to keep up with Wetherstone—who is a sponge for the stuff, apparently—and it is not a habit," he said. "I've only been drunk one other time in my life, and I did not like it, have never repeated it until tonight. I prefer a clear head," he said, stepping toward her, "especially when I must deliver bad news."

"And what might that be?" She straightened her shoulders as he came closer, and stared at him resolutely, heart pounding.

Chapter 21

"I've just had a long chat with Wetherstone," Evan said, "and the jolly fellow has decided not to buy any Kildonan sod after all, nor rent the castle at the handsome price he had earlier proposed to me. Not that he dislikes the Highlands, mind you," he went on, moving closer. "He is very keen on hunting holidays and climbing tours. But his wife is not keen to live part of the year in the remote northwest Highlands among savages. I wonder why." He folded his arms. "They'll purchase an estate near Inverness, or one closer to Stirling... and civilization."

"That is good news," she said. "At least for them."

"For you, too, no doubt. The bad news, my dear countess, is for me and for my solicitors, those money-hungry devils that await me in Edinburgh."

"Solicitors?" she asked.

"I need funds, madam, and this estate must provide them. And I very much needed Wetherstone to follow through on his promise to purchase a portion of this property. Now I have lost his offer. But you knew that would happen," he said. "You helped to undo the plan. Lady Wetherstone is so upset that she's taken to her room with a sick headache. Not only is Lord Wetherstone upset about learning the truth of life as a Highland laird—he's not happy about being shut out of his wife's room!"

He thundered the last, pointing at her own door. Catriona lifted her eyebrows high at the unwanted image of Lord and Lady Wetherstone amorously together.

"I can sympathize with the man on the latter problem," Evan went on, "since I share the same dilemma."

"You could have come to my room whenever you wanted," she said. "I've waited to hear your knock on my door since our first night here, yet nothing. You've left me alone."

"As I promised," he reminded her. "Did you knock on my door? It would have been open to you if you had. But my knock would be pointless, wouldn't it, for both of us? Apparently you have no intention of staying on as my wife. That became clear to me tonight."

"How so?" she demanded. "Because I do not want you to sell Kildonan, especially to an Englishman? Because I think you should have discussed it with your wife first?"

"How could I," he growled, "when the agreement was made long before I had a wife? Lord Wetherstone and I discussed this in Edinburgh two months ago. You had nothing to do with it then." He strode a few steps, shoving fingers through his hair, turned and strode back.

"I have something to do with it now," she said.

"Oh, aye, you've had quite a hand in it," he muttered, turning to cross the same carpet she had paced earlier.

"You could have told me," she said. "Just as you could have told me that you were the Earl of Kildonan."

"And what was I to say? 'Greetings, I'm the new earl and about to sell the place out from under you. Pass that blasted blanket so we can keep warm here—and by the way, would you have any roasted mice handy'?"

"You could have come to me and explained," she said. "I have lain alone, awake well into the night, thinking about the future—our future, as you asked me to do—and while I was beginning to believe perhaps we could have a wonderful life here after all, as earl and countess, as man and wife, as—mother and father someday,"—she gasped a breath, hurting to know that her deepest needs and desires might be snatched away—"you were plotting to sell the land, rent the castle, and go south as fast as you could!" She was shouting now. Tendrils of hair came loose, slipped down, as she breathed heavily with her temper.

"I did not know," he said quietly. "Did not think you were inclined that way. I rather thought you meant to dissolve this marriage."

"You could have asked me!"

"I was waiting—giving you the time and the chance to think, as you wanted. Starting over, do you recall that? Courting. Though I'll be damned if I'll come courting with flowers and pretty speeches. I'll play no games. Be my wife or not, as you will. But let me know which way your head is turning with the changing winds, madam!"

"Yours is clearly turned south," she snapped, "toward Edinburgh and your life away from here."

"Not from desire, but from need," he returned, his voice quiet but firm now. "I must have funds, as I said. Some of this estate must be sold. There is no choice."

"Why?" She folded her arms. "Another matter you could have discussed. How can I agree to be your wife in full, if I do not know much about you? Drinking, debt, what else do you need to tell me? How could you be in debt, when your father milked this land for profit over years?" The fortune his father had created for him was said to be vast. Had Evan lost it?

"What do you really know of me?" It was a challenge, his voice lower, softer, but rough-edged. "Tell me."

"I now know you have kept secrets from me," she snapped.

He spread his hands. "Then now you know I tend to keep things to myself. It is simply my nature. I will admit my flaws, madam, and that is one. Go on. What else?"

"I know you are—the son of the man who sent most of my friends and family out of this glen." She drew in a breath that caught and nearly became a sob. "I know that."

"Since he did not raise me past the age of knickers, I am free of his influence for the most part," he said. "My mother and her family have had the stronger influence, and they are Highlanders to their roots, fine people who now live in the Lowlands. I love the Highlands, Catriona. For years I stayed away because my father was here. But since I came back, since I have been with you—I know now that it is in my soul, this place. And I cannot, would not ask for different."