Fascination -and- Charmed (12 page)

Grace worried the muslin ruffle at the wrist of one yellow sleeve. “What is this about, Mr. Innes?”

“Theft,” he said simply, tossing the paper on the desk. “A series of thefts, to be precise. Mrs. Moggach reports that there are small treasures missing all over the castle.”

Grace’s mind became blank. She stared from Mr. Innes to Father Struan. The latter winked at her and showed no particular concern with the discussion.

“Evidently our trusty housekeeper expects me to inform the marquess that we are under siege from what she terms wicked villains,” Mr. Innes said. “What do you think of that, Miss Wren?”

She approached until she stood across the desk from him. “What should I think? Why would Mrs. Moggach ...” A dreadful notion formed. “Is Mrs. Moggach suggesting that
I
know something about these thefts?”

“Not a possibility,” Father Struan said lightly. “Don’t give it another thought.”

Mr. Innes looked at her, and she noted how very dark his eyes were. They appeared to be quite black. “Of course that is not what she’s suggesting.” When his lips settled together, Grace
noted how the corners turned up in repose and how distinct were the curves of his lips. She decided she would like to see him laugh.

“Since you are to become mistress here, I presume that Mrs. Moggach thinks you should be informed of what she considers to be a serious matter.”

“Then why didn’t she simply tell me herself?”

“The workings of the female mind have never been clear to me.” He did smile then, and Grace felt her own mouth twitch in response. Mr. Innes was indeed a
very
well-favored man. He might be unfamiliar with the workings of the female mind,
but Grace was not. There were more than a few feminine thoughts revolving around this tall, lithe, darkly compelling man on this morning—of that she had no doubt.

“Well, Mr. Innes. You have told me about this unfortunate situation, and I thank you. I fear I cannot help you decide how to proceed.”

“The marquess will decide—if there is any decision to be made.”

Father Struan made a slight humphing sound. “He’s very good at that sort of thing—decisions,
that is. Tossing them about. Tossing them out entirely, I shouldn’t wonder.”

Grace frowned at them both. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Mr. Innes said, “that I cannot imagine it being possible for anyone to be certain as to what is where—or where it is not at Kirkcaldy. Do you agree with me, Struan?”

“Bit like thinking one sees a fat fish among the rocks in a river, I should imagine,” Father Struan remarked. “Blink, and you’ll probably discover your fish was one more rock. Do
you
agree with that, Miss Wren?”

Grace suppressed a chuckle. “I do agree.”

“Would you think it impertinent of me to suggest that you call me Calum?” Mr. Innes said, somewhat gruffly.

To her surprise, she felt a warming toward him. “I should like that. And you must call me Grace. You also, if it pleases you, Father. Are you certain the marquess is well enough to be bothered with petty household matters?”

Calum hesitated before saying, “Do not concern yourself further with this. I’ll speak to Mrs. Moggach myself.”

“Perhaps I should go to the marquess now.” Grace became utterly still as she awaited his response. She wasn’t certain why she had made the suggestion unless it was that she’d become desperate to end her suspense. “Would it not be a good idea for me to speak to him about this issue?”

Calum had rested his broad, long-fingered hands on the desk and braced his weight. He was reading the note again and absently said, “His lordship doesn’t care for daylight.”

“Not at all,” Father Struan echoed.

“What does that mean?” Perhaps she’d misheard them. “Did you say he doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t like daylight,” Calum repeated. “Yes, that’s what I said. He sleeps in the early morning and prefers not to see anyone before nightfall—not then if it can be avoided.”

Grace puffed up her cheeks and let the air slowly escape. “How peculiar.” Then she remembered what Mairi had said. “He is only seen ... He is truly a night person? He never goes about in the daytime?”

Calum’s face came up. “No—yes. That is, he finds the night soothing.”

“Very soothing.” Father Struan sighed and nodded.

“Oh, I see. His illness, I suppose. For some reason he feels more pain in daylight. Perhaps his eyes are affected?”

“Perhaps.” Calum’s expressionless stare had returned. “It is simply his preference. I think he would prefer that you not question his habits. His lordship is a very private man.”

“So private that he chooses not to see the woman he is supposedly to marry,” Grace retorted. “When you approached me in London you said the marquess wished for someone to ease him in trying times. Surely these are trying times and I should be with him.”

Father Struan, very serious now, said, “We must not hurry these things.”

Calum said nothing. He folded Mrs. Moggach’s note and returned it to his pocket.

“Well,” Grace said, irritated at his high-handed silence. “Evidently my suggestion does not meet with your approval. But I’m grateful to have been included in this domestic detail. Now perhaps I can eat my breakfast.”

“Absolutely. We cannot have you fading away before the nuptials.”

Predictably, Father Struan added, “Absolutely

not,” before seating himself in a chair beside the desk and pulling a small book from his pocket. He began to read.

“Let me start you on your way to breakfast,” Calum said.

She cast him a sideways glance as he ushered her from the study. “One begins to wonder when those nuptials will be. Of
if
they will be.”

“They will
be,
as you put it. And soon, I think. Very soon.”

Grace’s stomach turned most unpleasantly.

“I’m glad you are so anxious to be joined with the marquess.”

The term “joined” had never been something she understood in this context, but she nodded at Calum. “My mother assures me that we will all be happier after the wedding has taken place.” Grace did not agree, but she was tired of uncertainty.

In the great hall, Calum took his leave of Grace and strode away toward stairs that led down to the kitchens. She hovered beside an intricately carved stone screen. Above her head was the minstrel’s gallery, draped all about with heraldic and military colors. Even her breathing seemed to echo upward into the painted ceiling domes.

She did not belong here.

Another’s breath made rapid gasping sounds and Mairi arrived, panting, at Grace’s side. “Och, there ye are. Ye fair worried me, miss.”

“Why?” Grace patted a plump shoulder and tucked wisps of fine hair behind the girl’s ear. “Calm yourself, Mairi. I can’t imagine why you were worried about me.”

“Grumpy—” She ducked her head and glanced quickly all around. “Mrs. Moggach said she hadna seen ye this mornin’. I was afeared somethin’ had happened to ye.”

There was no point in stirring up trouble among the staff by telling Mairi that Mrs. Moggach certainly had seen Grace. “Well, as you see, nothing has happened. I’m in fine health.”

“Ye didna wait for me to dress ye. Ye’re supposed to let me do that. Florence told me so, and I’m sorry I didna know as much yesterday.”

Grace doubted she would ever care to be dressed by someone else. “You need not trouble yourself to come to me in the morning.” Particularly since she could not be certain of exactly when she would be back in her room ... The now familiar heat washed her body and she looked away.

“Och, I must or I’ll lose my place here. Florence says I should ask for a room close by yours, too.”

“No! No, that’s not necessary.”

“Florence says I wouldna know if aught happened to ye in the night unless I could hear ye.”

Grace almost moaned with frustration. “You told me you like the room you were given.” A great deal had been happening in the night, and—might she be forgiven—she wasn’t certain that a great deal more might not happen on future nights.

“I do like the room. It’s the coziest place I ever had, but—”

“There is to be no
but.
I insist that you stay in the room you’ve already been given. I take it you have been told about the thefts that have taken place in the castle?”

“Everyone’s all aflutter about it,” Mairi said. “Grumpy says heads’ll roll. She got that funny look on her face—like an evil gnome from the moors—and said she’d a good idea who the villain was.”

“There are no evil gnomes,” Grace said severely, whilst wondering who Mrs. Moggach’s suspicions were trained upon.

“Och, and there are, too,” Mairi said with unexpected fierceness. “Scotland is fair full o’ gnomes and beasties and fairies—and kelpies in the lochs. You’d do well not to make any o’ them angry with your disbelief, and ...” She caught Grace’s eye and her voice trailed away.

“Did Mrs. Moggach make any suggestions about the identity of this
villain?
”

“Only that it was a person or persons who’d not been long in these parts. But I dinna know who she can be speakin’ of.”

“No,” Grace said, setting her mouth in a grim line. She had a very good idea who the old
gnome
referred to. “Come along.”

Grace marched away in the direction of the dining room. Mairi followed and insisted upon serving her heavy oatcakes and cold porridge laden with butter and salt. “Ye’re a waif of a thing,” she said, chuckling. “There’s no flesh on your bones. Ye’ll need your strength for the trials that lie ahead.”

Grace’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “Why do you say that, Mairi?”

The girl blushed and busied herself with removing unused covers from the long, gleaming mahogany table.

“Mairi?”

“Och, take no notice o’ me, miss. I’m blatherin’ again. My father’s always tellin’ me to mind my tongue. Will Mrs. Wren be having breakfast soon?”

“Mama never arises before noon. Close the door, please.” Grace was not about to miss an opportunity to pry more information from Mairi.

When they were safely shut inside the oppressively paneled room that seemed to Grace to be large enough to hold a ball, she pulled a chair beside hers and motioned her maid to sit down.

Mairi came slowly, reluctance weighting every step.

“Sit,” Grace ordered. And when Mairi did so, Grace added, “Why do you say I’ll need my strength for the trials ahead? What trials?”

“Och, ye’re not to pay me any mind.” She rocked her head. “It was just a manner o’ speakin’. Ye’re too thin.”

Grace ignored the last comment. “I don’t believe you.”

That resulted in a truly furious flush. “I’m sorry,” Mairi muttered. “I never was good at untruths. I only meant ye’d do well to make sure o’ your health afore ye’re married.”

“Why?”!

“Och, miss,” Mairi moaned.

“Why?” Grace persisted.

“I’ve already told ye about the babbies.”

“Foolishness,” Grace snapped. “You’re not to listen to such nonsense and you’re not to repeat it, either.”

“But—”

“You are not to do so. Do you understand me?”

Mairi nodded miserably.

“There’s far too much gossip and mean-spirited whispering in this castle.”

“Aye, miss. But ye shouldna be alone in that room.”

They were back to that. “I am perfectly fine.” She knew she should have a companion, just as she knew she should not be running around in the middle of the night, seeking the company of a man ...

He
fascinated
her, drew her, made her someone she did not know but whom she was unwilling to abandon.

She had to concentrate on her reason for being at Kirkcaldy. “Mairi, tell me about the marquess.”

“I already told ye about him.”

When light touched Niall’s face, it carved shadows into the planes beneath his cheekbones. And it pointed out the cleft in his chin—and when he smiled, there were those grooves in his cheeks. And light made his eyes as green as ... as pale, clear, flawless emeralds . . .

“Are ye feelin’ poorly, miss?”

Grace jerked her face up. “Not at all. Tell me more about the marquess.”

“Och, I dinna know. I’m sure I dinna.” When she spied Grace’s steady gaze, Mairi swallowed noisily. “Well, he’s always been quiet—accordin’ to Father, that is.”

“Your father’s seen him?” Grace shifted forward in her chair.

“No, no. He’s heard about him is all. There’s not a soul hereabouts as hasna heard about him.”

“What does he look like?”

Mairi’s pale, round eyes grew more round. Her brow furrowed.

Grace cleared her throat. “Is he ... is he very ugly? Deformed?” She chewed her bottom lip. “Does he have any teeth?”

“Teeth?”

Grace flapped a hand. “Silly me. Of course he has teeth. He eats babies.”

“Och, miss!”

“I was joking.” She managed a little smile. “Tell me what he looks like.”

“Och, miss.”

Grace pursed her lips.
“
Don
’
t
say that again.”

“But I dinna know what he looks like. I doubt anybody does.”

“That’s ... Of course someone knows what he looks like.”

“No. No one except Mr. Innes, o’course.”

“And—” Grace snapped her teeth together. She’d almost said,
and Niall.
Calum and Father Struan had told her the marquess didn’t like daylight. Perhaps that was why no one knew what he looked like. “Oh, fiddlesticks, Mairi. Don’t expect me to believe no one has any idea about the man’s appearance.”

“He did used to go about a bit. So my father says.”

“He did?” She was instantly alert. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t exactly know that, either. Except that it was in London. And in Edinburgh, I think.”

“Well then, someone will be able to tell me more.”

“No one here, miss. If they know, they’ll not speak o’ it.”

“That is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard. What can they be afraid of?”

“Ye’ve not been told at all, have ye?” Mairi’s mouth jerked down. “Ye’re a poor, innocent lamb about to become a sacrifice.”

Despite her resolve to be strong, Grace’s stomach plunged. “Kindly stop this nonsense and tell me what you’re talking about. In simple terms.”