Amanda Scott (5 page)

Breathing deeply of the fresh air, he sipped his brandy and savored the mysterious beauty of the loch. If he lived to be a hundred, he hoped such things would never fail to stir him. The Highlands were magnificent by day or by night.

A light scratching at the door was the only warning he had before it opened. She stood on the threshold, and he knew at once that he ought to have asked Patrick to think of something other than a warming pan for her to fetch. She held the long-handled, hot-coal-filled implement like a weapon of defense, and the way her eyes glittered, he did not doubt for a moment that she was thinking of using it as one.

D
IANA STOOD STILL, KNOWING
the instant her gaze met Calder’s that he remembered her. She had suspected it when Patrick himself had ordered her to bring a warming pan to this chamber instead of relaying the order through someone else, but she had not dared to make excuses. Patrick had seemed amused, which meant he did not yet suspect her of helping Allan, and that meant Calder had not told him about her mother’s escape from Edinburgh Castle. It was a pity, she thought, that her scruples forbade bashing his lordship over the head with the warming pan, and that circumstances prevented her instant departure from Castle Stalker.

The stillness grew unnerving. The warming pan felt heavy in her hands, and she jumped when a spark cracked in the fire. He seemed to fill the room, but still he did not speak. Instead, he watched her, perhaps waiting for her to say something, to condemn herself with her own tongue. He looked thoughtful but wary as his gaze flicked from her face to the warming pan and back.

Drawing a breath to steady herself, she said with forced calm, “I didna mean tae disturb ye, my lord. The master said I was tae bring the pan and warm your bed.” The instant the words left her tongue she wished them unsaid. With heat flooding her cheeks, she added hastily, “That is, he said I were tae thrust this here warming pan beneath yon kivers … and … and—” She broke off, unnerved even more by the enigmatic glint in his eyes.

He said quietly, “I do want my bed warmed. Shut the door.”

She kicked it shut with her foot, shuddering at the dull thud of finality that cut off her last chance of escape. The red-gold firelight, flickering candles, and a haze of acrid smoke in the air made her fancy she had entered the devil’s realm. Licking dry lips, she turned resolutely toward the narrow, curtained bed.

“One moment.”

The two words, softly spoken, stopped her in her tracks, but she did not look at him. She could scarcely breathe.

“My goblet is empty,” he said. “You may pour me more wine.”

Glancing at him, she caught sight of the flagon on the bench. “The tappit hen sits yonder, behind your lordship,” she said. “Aye, and ye must ha’ mistook it fer aught else. Ye can pour the wine yourself in half the time.”

“I do not wish to pour it myself. Must I complain to Patrick Campbell that his servants are slothful?”

“I dinna ken
slothful,”
she said, lifting her chin, “but if ye aim tae call me shiftless, I doot the master will believe ye. He kens weel that I work hard.”

“He kens little about you at all, Mab MacKissock,” he said.

She swallowed hard, saying nothing.

“You know, do you not, that aiding a felon to escape is an offense for which you can be hanged.”

His words stirred a shiver of terror, but she dared not submit to it or she was finished: Collecting her wits and looking right at him, she said fretfully, “But ye did let me go! I didna ken the lady’s crime were sae great as that, nor mine neither.” Relief flooded her when he frowned. So he was uncertain yet of her present guilt.

Watching her narrowly, he said, “I am speaking of the escape of one Allan Breck last night from this castle. He represents certain cowardly rebels who fled after Culloden to take up residence in France, and may mean to stir a new uprising. This is by no means the first time he has returned to make mischief here in Appin, but it is the first time we have caught him. I think you helped him escape.”

Controlling her countenance with difficulty, for by nature she was open and frank, she said, “Och, now, how could I? I’ve naught tae do wi’ any prisoners.”

“You had better put that pan down on the hearth before you spill its contents on the floor,” he said, retaining that narrow-eyed, suspicious look.

“I’m tae put it in your bed.”

“I don’t want it in my bed. If I’ve judged your character correctly, you’d spill a coal or two and I’d find myself burnt to a crisp by morning.”

“In the event, you’d not find yourself at all,” she retorted. At once she wished she had kept silent. Something about him stirred her to behave as she would with an equal, and one whom she liked at that. Surely it was not just his handsome face or well-built body, and just as surely, she was a fool if she let whatever it was seduce her into betraying herself. She must remember that she was a lowly serving girl, who owed him all due respect.

“Put that thing down as I bade you, and come here.”

“Please, sir, I must do my task and get back tae the kitchen afore the master sends someone tae fetch me.”

“He won’t do that.”

“I’m a good girl, sir. I came only to—”

“To warm my bed,” he interjected. “Is that not what you said?”

“Aye, but not in the manner ye would wish,” she said firmly.

“You are a most disobedient wench,” he said with a sigh. “I have given you two orders, both of which you have brazenly ignored, and now you dare refuse the service that your master sent you here to perform. If I complain to him, you will get a good hiding, which, in my opinion, is exactly what you deserve.”

She knew he was right about what would happen to her, and she would get more than a hiding if he told Patrick Campbell about Edinburgh. Forcing a note of submission into her voice, she said hastily, “I will set the warming pan on the hearth, sir since that is where you wish it, and I will gladly fill your goblet.”

“I thought perhaps you would,” he murmured.

Swiftly she moved to set the long-handled pan on the hearth, but when she straightened, she found him standing between her and the bench where the flagon sat. He was more than a head taller than she was and much broader across shoulders and chest. Her gaze met the top button of his buff leather waistcoat. Staring at it, she moistened her lips again. “Do ye mean tae let me pass, sir? I canna fill the goblet if I canna reach yon tappit hen.”

“I would first exact a price for your impertinence, Mab MacKissock.”

She looked up then and saw a new glint in his eyes. The firelight reflected in their gray depths warmed them, stirring again the odd fancy that she played with the devil. She could not seem to look away. She feared him, feared the power he held over her both with his rank and his knowledge of what she had done in Edinburgh. Yet she wanted to touch him, and she found the danger of her position exhilarating. He had not unmasked her, so he did not want her to die for her sins, and apparently he was willing to believe that she had not helped Allan escape.

“Well?” he said.

“What price?” But she knew. She knew perfectly well, and when he held her chin in one warm hand and tilted her face up, she did not resist. He surprised her by pulling off her mobcap with his other hand, freeing her dark curls to spread over her shoulders. His expression warmed with appreciation as he bent toward her.

His lips were warm, too, and soft against hers. Then they firmed and pressed harder, and she felt a stirring in her body, a tingling deep within unlike anything she had felt before. Shocked by her feelings, she pulled back.

Calder smiled. “So you did not lie about being inexperienced,” he said. His hand still held her chin, his fingers warm and strong.

“I do not lie!” The words came unbidden, spoken more fiercely than she had intended. Indeed, she had not meant to speak them at all, for in view of her present position, the declaration was ludicrous. Yet his suggestion that she might lie had offended her as much as such a charge ever had. Even in her recent activities, she had tried never to tell an outright falsehood. She was not a good liar, for one thing. She had too much tendency to say what she thought. For another, it was a matter of honor. The Campbells and the English authorities had none. Far better to defeat them without employing their own wicked methods. Hoodwinking them was one thing, outright wickedness another.

“I find it hard to believe that you have not deceived Patrick,” he said wryly. He released her chin but still regarded her with sardonic suspicion.

Remembering her role, she said more calmly, choosing her words with care, “Misfortune ha’ come upon me, sir, but I try tae do what’s richt.”

He stood aside. “Fetch the flagon then, Mab MacKissock, though I think you need the brandy more than I do. I’ll give you a sip or two to relax you, and then you can warm my bed.” His smile made it impossible to mistake his meaning.

Her hand shook when she picked up the pewter flagon, and she nearly spilled the brandy when he held out his goblet. It was one thing to slap away the hand of an impudent young soldier but quite another to resist the attentions of a noble guest in her master’s house. Remembering Calder’s threat to complain about her made her hand shake even more. Patrick Campbell would not hesitate, she knew, to order her whipped for insolence or obstinacy.

“You may put that down now,” Calder said gently.

She did not want to step past him again, though she would have given much for a breath of fresh air from the open window to clear her head. But since it was not the smoke that had made her dizzy, the cool, clean air would doubtless do little to steady her. She felt a pulse beating in her throat, and her chest felt tight.

The last thing she wanted was to be ravished by this, or any, man. Neither did she wish to be beaten, however, and above all, she did not want to anger him into revealing what he knew of her to Patrick. If they began to ask questions about her, the maidservant and soldier whose illicit activities had allowed her to slip up to the tower might well admit their sin. Then the ferryman would own that she had begged him to take her across the water. She could not afford such questions.

“MacKissock is a common enough name in Perthshire,” he said suddenly, “but I do not know any MacKissocks in Argyll. Who is your father?”

If she never heard the name MacKissock again, she decided, it would be too soon. Still clutching the flagon, thinking rapidly, she said, “My father is dead, sir. Most of the men in my family are dead.” That was certainly true, and her eyes welled with unexpected tears at the thought.

“Don’t weep,” he said, reaching for her. “Have a sip of my brandy instead. It will calm you. Truly, I did not mean to make you sad.”

Involuntarily, she stepped back until the warmth of the fire behind her warned her that she could go no farther. “Ye are kind, sir,” she said, “but I mustna ha’ any. If they smell it on my breath, I’ll be in a peck of trouble.”

“Not if I compel you to drink it.” With his hand open but still outstretched, he took a step toward her.

Afraid a spark might set her skirt afire if she got any closer to the hearth, she skipped sideways, forgetting the long handle of the bed warmer until she kicked it. The pan tilted, its lid flipped up, and hot coals spilled to the hearthstones, scattering.

Calder, still moving toward her, jumped back again with a yell and an oath, hopping on one foot in obvious pain. He wore only stockings on his feet.

Appalled, she cried, “Och, ye’ve burnt yourself!”

“Aye, and you spilled those coals on purpose!” Still hopping, he held the sore foot now with both hands, and she could see smoldering wool.

With presence of mind, she doused it with the remains of the brandy.

“Good God, what are you doing now? That’s damned expensive brandy!”

“Would you rather have a charred foot?”

“You might have set my whole leg afire, wench! Have you never seen a flaming pudding at Christmas? What do you think makes the flames?”

“Brandy does, of course,” she said tartly, “but not when it’s poured over the pudding in a veritable waterfall.” When he glanced at her in surprise, she realized she had forgotten her accent and added hastily, “I dinna ken why that, is, sir, but ’tis quite true, I promise ye.”

“True enough, I expect,” he said, putting his brandy-soaked foot to the floor in a hesitant way at first, then more firmly. Taking the flagon from her, he put it back on the window bench. “Now I shall have to send for more brandy.”

“Your stocking is all wet,” she said.

“Aye, it is.” The look he gave her boded no good.

“I … I’ll fetch more brandy.”

“You’ll stay where you are. I have not finished with you yet.”

“Please, sir,” she said, feeling more desperate by the minute. “’Tis sorry I am that ye burnt your foot, and sorry about the brandy, but I dinna want tae lie wi’ ye, and I dinna want tae drink spirits. ’Tis wicked, the devil’s ain brew, that. Ye can force me tae do your bidding, but I beg ye will not. Our minister says—”

“Spare me what your minister says,” he said. “I’ve no wish for an unwilling bed partner. I just thought you might enjoy discovering what you have missed.”

She held her tongue. She had thought him angry, but he did not seem so now, and the feeling of being trapped was dissipating in the face of his calm. He could still complain of her to Patrick, but she began to think he would not, and from that it was no great step to wonder if she could somehow exploit his evident attraction to her. She had dissuaded him rather easily from his intent to ravish her. Perhaps she could influence him just as easily to help her.

When he sat down on the window bench and pulled off his wet stocking, she took courage in hand and said, “Please, my lord, I didna mean tae offend ye. I ha’ been affrighted the whole day long, since they learned of that rebel’s escape. I ha’ been here less than a sennight, ye see. I feared they would think I had helped him.”

“As I thought,” he said, watching her. “But you say you did not.”

Though he spoke the words evenly, his tone did not fool her. With a deep sigh, she looked at her feet and said sadly, “Och then, ye dinna believe me. ’Tis but a matter of time now before Patrick Campbell sends for me, and I warrant he’ll no believe me neither. These Campbells, they do be a fierce lot, ye ken.”