Grace in Thine Eyes (26 page)

D
avina stood on the flagstones outside the front door, flanked by tall iron torches that held the darkness at bay, waving farewell until her cousins rolled out of view. On the lawn all was quiet. The Stewarts were the final guests to leave, and the servants of Kilmichael House had tasks to attend elsewhere. Even the footman had deserted his post.

Taking advantage of the solitude, Davina remained out of doors, drinking in the refreshing night air, letting the events of the last few hours find a resting place in her mind and heart.

You shall be the duke’s summer fiddler. ’Tis a great privilege
.

Davina took a few steps along the graveled walk, hoping to calm her nerves. She had hours of entertainment to provide. However might she fill them all? Fiddle tunes were short and often grouped together in sets of three and four. Her repertoire would quickly be depleted, particularly without anyone dancing; when lines of blithe dancers were involved, a repeated reel was hardly noticed.

If the Fullartons did not object, she would spend her days at Kilmichael working on a dozen tunes she’d yet to master and practicing some of her grandfather’s old strathspeys she’d neglected of late. One was “Monemusk” and “Tullochgorum” another. Davina smiled, hearing the frolicsome notes in her head, and imagined the duke’s foot keeping time with her bow. Aye, she would have sufficient music to keep His Grace entertained and his company as well—one guest in particular.

See that you do not leave this house, Miss McKie
. Davina glanced toward the empty entrance hall, her smile fading. Somerled MacDonald had not come looking for her as he’d promised. She sighed, remembering his words.
I find it difficult to bid you farewell
. Perhaps he’d found it altogether too difficult and left without saying good-bye.

She chastised herself at once for thinking ill of him. The duke’s other guests might have insisted Somerled return with them. And she would see him tomorrow evening, would she not? Considering how deeply the man and his music had affected her, that might be soon enough. His gaze, his smile, his voice, his words spun round inside her, thrilling and confusing her all at once. Dared she hope for more than one night of music?

Shivering at the prospect, Davina continued in the direction of the garden, stopping when she reached the outermost light cast by the torches. The June night was seasonably mild, without a hint of rain. With the new moon gone from sight, a faint blanket of stars covered the velvety sky. The sun, not long set, would soon rise again on this shortest of nights, then skirt the treetops throughout the long Midsummer Day. Even now, at almost midnight, she could discern shapes in the garden, bathed in a dark blue sort of twilight.

Davina tipped her head back, picking out the northern constellations: Lyra, high in the southern sky; Ursa Major, growling down at her from the north; and to the east, Cassiopeia, shining in a distinct W.

She heard footsteps. Then a voice behind her softly said, “Light in darkness.”

You remembered
.

Davina gazed over her shoulder into Somerled’s star-bright eyes. She turned round to face him, then stepped back for propriety’s sake, and curtsied.

After a low chuckle, Somerled bowed. “How very formal, Miss McKie.”

At least the darkness hid the color in her cheeks.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten what transpired in the music room this evening.” With one step he closed the gap between them. “You can be sure I have not.”

When his fingers touched hers, she jumped slightly.

“Pardon me, for I did not mean to startle you.” He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, an innocent gesture common to every gentleman of the realm.

Then why did it feel so intimate? And why could she not stop blushing?

A diversion was called for. Davina pulled her hand free as gracefully as she could, then turned and swept her arm in an arc above her, inviting him to gaze at the night sky—safe, cool, distant—while she sorted through her scattered thoughts. She was attracted to Somerled; she was frightened of him as well. They should return to the house at once or procure a chaperon, yet she was loath to do either, having never stood beneath the stars with so handsome and charming a man as this one.

“Draco,” Somerled murmured over her shoulder, pointing straight up. “The Dragon. ’Tis that spindly constellation with three stars forming its head. And below it, toward the horizon, is Boötes, the Herdsman. Four stars in a diamond pattern, like a kite with a bright tail. A favorite of your sheep-breeding father’s, I’ll wager.”

She nodded, though she was not quite listening. Would her father approve of Somerled? Her dear mother?

“Low in the sky is Perseus,” Somerled explained, moving closer. “Shaped like a bent T. Do you see?”

Nae, she did not see, for she was too aware of the nearness of him, the summery scent of him, like heather and sun and ocean.

“One constellation in particular reminds me of you, Miss McKie. Can you guess?”

She pretended to play a harp, plucking unseen strings while the lace on her sleeves fluttered.

“Lyra is a fine choice,” he agreed, “for you are a musician without peer. No wonder the duke desires your company at table each evening.”

But do you desire my company?
She bowed her head, ashamed of her feelings—unfamiliar yet undeniable.

“You’ll not find your stars down there.” She heard the smile in his voice and a note of something else. He reached round and gently lifted her chin, pulling her closer.

Her breath, her heart seemed to stop in place.

“Do not be afraid, Miss McKie.” His hand lingered on her chin,
barely touching her as his fingers relaxed, then slowly eased down her neck.

Nae!
She tried to move away.

“Please.” His hand pressed more firmly. “Do not end what has only begun.” His voice thrummed in a low vibrato, like the strings beneath his bow. “You trusted me with your music, Miss McKie. Trust me in this.”

Thirty-Seven

He sees only night,
and hears only silence.
J
ACQUES
D
ELILLE

H
e stilled, waiting for Davina to soften beneath his touch. To yield to him, if only a little. No gentlewoman gave herself easily. What pleasure was there in that?

If Davina required wooing, he would woo her. Gladly.

“Let me show you the constellation I had in mind.” Somerled tipped her chin toward the southern sky, leaning over her shoulder as he did. He positioned his rough cheek next to her smooth one, almost touching but not quite. “There it is, like a cross in the heavens. Cygnus. Do you know what the name means?”

When she nodded, her cheek brushed against his.
On purpose, lass?

“ ’Tis a mute swan,” he told her, “the sort that glides across your Lowland lochs. Beautiful and silent. Very much like you, Miss McKie, in your fine damask gown.” He lightly stroked her neck, marveling at the silken texture of her skin. “How did Milton phrase it?” he murmured. “The swan with arched neck between her white wings.”

When Davina tried to move again, he gently released her, determined not to rush things. Time was not a hindrance; the night was young and the weather cooperative. He’d warned Sir Harry not to expect him at the castle until breakfast, hinting of a dairymaid who’d promised to share her narrow bed. Fathers paid little attention to trysts with servants.

As for Davina, Somerled felt certain no one would bother her until morning. He’d learned the location of the guest room from a loquacious maid, then locked the bedchamber door from the inside and slipped through the open sash into the garden. When the time came—much later, if all went well—he would escort Davina home by way of that same window without raising the alarm at Kilmichael.

She suddenly turned, as if considering a return to the house.

“Please, Miss McKie. Tarry with me a minute longer?” Somerled captured her small hand and tucked it round his arm, playing the part of a trustworthy gentleman. When she didn’t resist, he knew he’d chosen wisely; they were on comfortable footing again.

“Might we follow the gravel path to the burn? There’s a torch staked along the bank for guests who want to enjoy the water without tumbling in. The footman apparently forgot to extinguish it.” As well the man should have: Somerled had paid him to forget.

Davina frowned at the darkened walkway, then shook her head.

“We needn’t spend long there,” he assured her. “And we’ll be doing the Fullartons a service if we put out the fire for them.”

However reticently, Davina let him lead her toward the burn. His boots were noisy on the gravel-strewn path, yet he could not ask her to walk in the grass and risk staining her ivory gown, much as he preferred they not be seen or heard. Though he cared nothing for his own reputation, he cared very much for hers.
Miss
would never become
Mrs
. if the respectable gentlemen of Galloway learned of Davina’s indiscretions. He was a rake, aye, but not a scoundrel.

They passed a rose shrub in one grassy curve, a Grecian urn in another, though Davina’s attention remained fixed on him. Was she signaling her interest? Trying to discern his? Surely he’d made his intentions clear. Keeping their conversation light, he pointed out the cotoneaster in the nearby garden, a dozen branches thrusting up from the ground, each one thick as a fist. Even on a moonless night, the newly bloomed white flowers were visible.

“ ’Tis a night for fairies,” he said softly. “Could be we’ll discover some dancing on a flat stone in the burn, aye?” She smiled a little, which pleased him. “On Midsummer Eve the auld wives used to collect the brown spots on the fronds to protect themselves from the wee folk.” He winked at her. “There are some especially large ferns along the water, Miss McKie. Shall I pluck one to keep me safe from you? After all, fairies have been known to play fiddles.”

She blushed most becomingly in the meager torchlight.

“And here’s the burn,” he said, guiding her to a curved stone bench
secluded beneath the trees. Silvery gray willows crowded along the banks of the stream, edged in moss and damp earth. The torch beside them was reduced to a flicker. A passing breeze would have extinguished it, but he made a show of putting the fire out for safety’s sake, dousing the coals with water from the burn.

“Are you thirsty, Miss McKie?” When she nodded, he produced a small pewter flask, only to watch her eyes widen. “But not for the water of life, eh?” If she would not join him, he’d restrict himself to one drink. Some ladies did not care for the taste of whisky on a man’s lips; he suspected Davina might be one of them.

After swallowing a bracing gulp, he capped the flask and slipped it back in place. “ ’Tis sufficient for me,” he said, hoping to ease her mind on that score. “On a perfect night like this, I do not wish to disappoint you. In any way.”

Davina looked at him with an expression of such innocence, she nearly unmanned him.

Och, lass
. Somerled gazed down at her, haunted by those guileless eyes of hers. Had he misjudged her? Despite the considerable passion in her playing, was she, in fact, an untried maid? If so, he would not be the one to ruin her. A gentleman who valued his neck and his purse did not trifle with virgin daughters of landed gentry, lest he find himself at kirk, standing before the bride stool. Somerled had no such plans, not for a very long time.

Was Davina so naive as to think that he …

Nae
. She was smiling up at him now, her mouth slightly open, as if she might welcome a kiss. Somerled settled down next to her on the stone bench. “Miss McKie, when we played together this evening, I sensed something … ah, developing between us. Did you as well?”

She nodded and touched her heart.

Easily understood, that one. “I’m glad to know I am not alone in my feelings.” Somerled inched closer. “In truth, since we first met in the drawing room, I have imagined this moment.”

Though Davina looked away, she could not conceal what he’d seen in her eyes: She’d imagined their tryst too.

He needed no further permission, no clearer invitation. He would
follow her lead, just as he had when she’d played her fiddle. And because Davina could not speak, he would remain silent as well.

When he slowly began to caress her hands, rubbing his thumbs across her satiny skin, she did not pull away.
Good, lass
. He lifted her hands to his mouth and kissed the back of each one, tenderly but with purpose. Again, she did not flinch.
Ah, better
. And when he turned over her hands and took his time kissing first her palms and then her fingers, she trembled, but she did not resist him.
Much better
.

The two of them were so close now, breathing the same night air, that shifting his mouth from Davina’s fingers to her lips was almost effortless.

Thirty-Eight

The silent soule doth most abound in care.
W
ILLIAM
A
LEXANDER
, E
ARL OF
S
TIRLING

D
avina’s heart quickened as the heat of uncertainty rose to her cheeks. Should she open her eyes and gaze into his? Open her mouth at his gentle insistence?

Nae
. Suddenly shy, Davina turned away, breaking their kiss.

Somerled responded at once, cradling her face in his hands. “Please, my bonny wee girl.” He kissed her again, so tenderly she could not resist him. “We have shared much already, have we not?”

Aye
. She nodded slightly, letting him kiss her cheeks, drowning in a pool of sensations. To be so desired, so cherished … was this not what she’d always hoped for?

When he kissed her lips again, weaving his long fingers into her hair, freeing her toppling crown, Davina opened her eyes and opened her mouth and opened her heart.

Somerled took them all.

“Davina …” Breathless. Muffled against the curve of her neck.