Grace in Thine Eyes (38 page)

Surrounded by an enormous clipped yew, Somerled turned and faced her window at last, confident he could be heard by her yet not seen by others. He tapped on the glass, then pressed his ear against it, listening. No rustling of bedcovers, no footfalls. He knocked again, more firmly this time. In the hush of early morning, his knuckles on the windowpane sounded dangerously loud.

There
. He heard movement within. For a moment his heart caught in his throat. What if this was no longer Davina’s room? What if the Fullartons had brought home another guest?
Nae
. There she was, parting the curtains, a look of astonishment on her sweet face.

“Good morning,” he murmured, then smiled as he helped her lift the heavy window sash. She’d tied a linen wrap over her long nightgown in haste—inside out, with the seams showing—and her unbound hair cascaded round her shoulders. A charming vision of youth and innocence and beauty.

And all mine
.

He had never been a possessive man. Had avoided such entanglements. Davina McKie had changed all that. The man who’d never wanted a wife could not slip a ring on her finger soon enough. Aye, he longed to bed her—properly this time—but his desire ran far deeper than that.

Somerled rested his arms on the windowsill as she knelt to hear his whispered words. “I have come for one thing only. Naturally you are free to refuse.”

Davina glanced over her shoulder—was there a sound in the
hall?—then turned back, brushing the sleep from her eyes. She nodded.
Go on
.

“ ’Tis a kiss I’m wanting. Only one. Chaste and true.”

She studied him at length before answering.
Aye
.

“Is the door locked?” he asked.

A shake of her head.
Nae
.

“Will that maid of yours appear soon?”

A slight shrug.
Who can tell?

Somerled smiled. Already he was beginning to hear the words she could not say but meant. A promising sign for the years to come.

He looked round her at the shadowy room. Did he dare risk climbing inside? The window was broad and the drop to the ground short; he could leap out with little effort if someone knocked on the door. But the coins he’d paid Nan would not be enough to buy her silence if the maid discovered him in Davina’s bedchamber, however innocent his intentions.

Davina sat back on her heels. Her hands were folded on her lap in ladylike fashion, her wrap modestly tucked round her. Despite her state of undress, Davina was everything virtuous, everything pure.

Unbidden, a lump rose in his throat. Could it be he’d not ruined her completely? This young woman who’d stolen his heart—might she offer hers in return?

He could not find out across a windowsill. “May I come inside for a moment, Miss McKie? And kiss you there?” When Davina blanched, he held up his hand. “One kiss, I assure you. Nothing more.”

She hesitated, eyes closed, as if she was listening. Nae, as if she was praying. At last she scooted back across the carpet, making room for him. Trusting him.

He crawled over the windowsill, dragging his long legs over with caution, aware of sounds elsewhere in the house. Their one kiss would need to be very brief. Since he’d not see her again this day nor much of the next, he would do his part to make it memorable.

“I’ll not put my hands on you unless you want me to,” he said, kneeling before her.

She shook her head.
Please don’t
.

Somerled leaned toward her with care, both of them on their knees, his fingers touching the floor so he would not tip forward and knock her over. “Thank you, my love,” he whispered, and then he pressed his mouth to hers.

Time swept backward. To their first kiss, tender and sweet.

And in her kiss he tasted forgiveness. And in his heart he knew his love for her was genuine, a love that would last for all their days together.

Somerled fought to keep his balance, not wanting their one kiss to end. Not hearing the knock at her bedchamber door until it was too late.

Fifty-Five

Know this, that troubles come swifter
than the things we desire.
P
LAUTUS

M
iss McKie,” Nan sang out. “ ’Tis yer faither, come tae see ye.” Davina broke their kiss with a gasp, falling backward onto the carpet as Somerled shot to his feet.

“Sir, this is not as it appears—”

“Appears?” Jamie McKie was shouting, on the verge of exploding, as he strode into the room. “What right have
you
to speak of appearances?”

Davina was too stunned to do anything but clutch her robe round her neck as her father pulled her to her feet.

He circled his arm round her, his gaze still pinned to Somerled. “I will let my daughter explain what has occurred here. Not you, MacDonald.”

He knows his name
. Davina could not breathe, could not think. What was he doing here? And why was her sketchbook not at hand when she needed it so desperately? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nan standing in the open doorway, gloating.

Father turned round long enough to dismiss the maid. “Inform the Fullartons of my arrival. And see that we’re not disturbed.”

Davina felt his chest heaving, fury coming off him like steam.
Father, dear Father
. She loved him but was terrified he’d found her like this. With Somerled.
’Twas only a kiss, Father. One kiss
.

Somerled straightened his coat and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “Forgive me, sir, but I hardly know where to begin.” He bowed stiffly. “I am Somerled MacDonald of—”

“I ken who you are, lad.”

Her father was not looking at Somerled now. Only at her. Searching her face for answers. “Tell me, Davina. What is this man to you?”

She saw the glint of tears in his eyes. And the disappointment. And the fear.
I will tell you, Father. When we are alone, I will tell you everything
.

“Has he hurt you, Davina?” A note of urgency in his voice. “Are you well?”

Davina heard the unasked question:
Are you still chaste?
She swallowed, wishing she might close her eyes and hide the truth from him. Instead she nodded in response, convincing herself she wasn’t telling him a lie.
I am well enough
.

Somerled tried again. “May I assume you received our letters, sir?”

Jamie looked at him now, his expression hardening. “The only letter I received was from my cousin, Reverend Stewart, full of concern for my daughter. I came at once. For her sake.”

The strain in her father’s voice was nothing compared to the tension Davina felt in the arm surrounding her. Shielding her. Protecting her from the man she’d pledged to marry.

Despite her father’s anger, Somerled did not back down, nor was he disrespectful. “Mr. McKie, two letters were sent by packet boat on Monday. One from my father, Sir Harry MacDonald of Argyll, and one from me. I regret that you did not receive them before you left Glentrool.”

“Whatever the content of those letters, words cannot atone for what I witnessed in this room.” Jamie glanced at the floor and then at her hand. “Unless a wedding ring has been placed on my daughter’s finger without my knowledge, your conduct … nae, your
presence
here is reprehensible.”

“I can explain that, sir, and will do so gladly.” Somerled took one step toward them, his hands clasped behind his back, dispelling any threat; he was both taller and broader than her father. “First you must know that a wedding ring awaits your daughter in Argyll. It belonged to my grandmother and is meant to be worn by my wife, the future Lady MacDonald.”

Her father stiffened. “Am I to understand that you wish to marry my daughter?”

“I do, sir. Very much. Without delay.”

Oh, Somerled
. She tried to catch his eye, to warn him.
Do not give us away
.

“You sound … eager.” Her father’s voice was suddenly cool. “Davina,
while you dress for kirk, I shall escort Mr. MacDonald out of doors where we might speak in private.” He pressed a firm kiss to her brow. “I’ll send in your maid. See that you are ready in half an hour. Then you and I shall have our own discussion, aye?”

Davina trembled as he released her.
He knows
. Was the guilty truth in her eyes? In Somerled’s voice?
Without delay
. Her father was astute; he knew an anxious bridegroom when he heard one.
Father, you must agree to this. Please, you must
.

Somerled paused before following him out the door. “Miss McKie, I hope you will pardon my imprudent visit this morning.” He wanted to say more—she could see that—but instead he bowed and disappeared into the hall. Somerled did not seem afraid; she was frightened enough for both of them. What would he say to her father? And her father to him?

Nan came sauntering in, then closed the door with her hip. “ ’Tis the last time I’ll be forced tae dress ye,” she said curtly, yanking open the wardrobe, then pulling out one gown after another and tossing them across the bed. “Syne I told the Fullartons aboot yer early mornin’ visitor, they want ye oot the door suin as yer bags are packed.” She shook her head, making her white cap dance. “And aren’t I the blithe lass tae do it?”

Davina did not give Nan the satisfaction of seeing her cry. She had far graver concerns than an inexcusably rude maid or a scandalized hostess. Somerled might think it necessary to tell her father the terrible truth, if only to convince him of the need for haste.
You cannot tell him. You must not!
If her father could not forgive the twins for the accident that took away her voice, he would never forgive the man who’d stolen her innocence.

The twins
. Davina’s skin grew cold. Once her father learned the truth, so would her brothers. Will and Sandy would not ask to speak with Somerled, as Father had; they would leave Somerled battered and bleeding and consider it justice.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed, too numb to move.

Be not far from me; for trouble is near
.

Indifferent to her lady’s misery, Nan emptied the pitcher of hot
water into the bowl, splashing it everywhere, then draped a linen towel over the side. “Here ye are.”

Retrieving the towel before the edges were soaked, Davina attended to her bath, not caring if the
ill-scrapit
woman saw her bruises, now faded to a pale lavender. Any trace of color or tenderness would be gone by the time she married Somerled. He had seen one bruise and been chastened; he did not need to see the rest.

As Nan brushed her riding habit with perfunctory strokes, Davina was glad she had no voice; she’d have only harsh words for the maid who’d lorded it over her, punishing her daily for disregarding the rules of good society. She looked away as Nan dressed her, the maid tugging harder than required on her laces, dragging Davina’s blouse over her head, jabbing her torso with her sharp thumbs as she buttoned her coat. Davina was afraid to let the woman comb her hair and so did it herself, plaiting her red locks while Nan packed her valise.

Nan scowled as Davina finished her thick braid with a bow. “Ye leuk like a
puir
kintra lass. Mrs. Fullarton’s maid would ne’er dress her leddy’s hair sae plain.”

Davina did a hatesome thing: She turned and flung her braid over her shoulder, swatting Nan Shaw in the face.

Fifty-Six

Be silent and safe—silence never betrays you.
J
OHN
B
OYLE
O’R
EILLY

H
izzie!” Nan sputtered, but her abusive comment fell on deaf ears. Davina quit the room without a backward glance and with no intention of returning. She sailed down the hall, buoyed by her tiny victory and driven by a fresh wind of determination, even as tears stung her eyes. If Somerled was fearless, could she not be brave as well?

The hall was empty, but there were servants pressed against each closed door—eavesdropping, no doubt. She heard them shuffling and whispering as she walked by. This house and its inhabitants would not be missed. Davina followed the sound of voices to the music room, where Captain Fullarton and her father were in deep conversation. Somerled had gone apparently. Did that bode ill or well?

Both men stood to greet her with grim expressions.

“Mr. MacDonald has taken his leave,” her father said evenly. “As we shall do shortly.”

Captain Fullarton looked very ill at ease; she could hardly blame him. Had there not been gossip enough for the last week, now an amorous Highlander had climbed in his guest-room window on the same morning an enraged father had appeared on his doorstep. No wonder the captain’s hospitality had come to an abrupt end; the Fullartons were not about to risk their august reputation for the sake of a Lowland fiddler. Though his eagerness to see her leave cut her to the quick, Davina could not fault the man’s prudence.

His smile was painful to look at. “Miss McKie, I thought … that is, my wife and I believe that you will feel more comfortable lodging elsewhere.” He gestured in the general direction of the bay. “I have taken the liberty of sending Clark to the inn at Cladach to make lodging arrangements for you.” He nodded at Jamie. “And for your father, at his request.
’Tis quite close to Brodick castle, which should make things easier for you each evening. I believe you’ll find the inn very … commodious.”

Davina glanced away, almost feeling sorry for him.

Her father spared him additional false blandishments. “I’m sure it will suffice, Captain. We’d be grateful if you would also send Davina’s belongings—”

“Aye, aye, they will follow shortly.” The master of Kilmichael had already pressed Davina’s fiddle into her hands and was escorting her to the front door, as if anxious to sweep the house clean of her. “We’ve a horse saddled for you, Miss McKie, that will carry you to kirk and back. Will you require anything else?”

Davina pressed her hands together in thanks—until this moment the Fullartons had been most hospitable—then took her father’s arm and walked into the unforgiving light of a Sabbath morning. It was not yet nine o’clock; she’d not had breakfast, not even tea. Perhaps the two of them might stop at the manse before or after kirk, if the Stewarts would still make her welcome. A wretched thing, to be shunned by polite society.