Her Scottish Groom (29 page)

A few looked in her direction, but most of the occupants stared straight ahead. Some cried, most did not.

Diantha took a deep breath and introduced herself. A stir of interest awoke on some faces, almost immediately extinguished by grief.

She wasted no time. As Billy brought in the first load, she conferred with the rector’s wife. The good woman explained that times like this provided excellent opportunities to remind sinners of their own mortality and hopefully save souls.

Diantha looked at her for a long minute. “Indeed?”

Turning her back on the woman, she saw a boy
of about ten huddled next to his mother on a hard wooden bench. He stared at her with vacant brown eyes, but she approached him anyway. She stooped to his level and spoke softly. “Good afternoon. I am Lady Rossburn.”

He blinked, but gave no other response. Very gently she asked, “Was your papa on one of the boats?” The boy’s lips moved and tears filled his eyes, but did not overflow. Her own vision blurred at the sight, but her tears would not help any of these people.

Reaching out, she took hold of a grubby hand already tough with calluses. “I am so terribly sorry for your loss. When did you last eat?” One thin shoulder shrugged. “Do you think your Mama would like something to eat?”

Finally focusing on her, he nodded. A few minutes later, she had coaxed him into helping Billy. His mother leaned against the wall, wrapped in her own silent world, but when Diantha touched her hand in sympathy, she felt a twitch from the cold fingers.

The boy acted as the first crack in an ice dam. An old man got up to help unload as well, and when Diantha apologetically asked if someone could start cooking fires on the hearths at each end of the room, a few women stirred.

An hour later, porridge cooked over one fireplace while mutton stew bubbled at the other. Bread from the Duncarie ovens sat on clean towels next to piles of plates and bowls provided by the villagers. MacAdam had sent along more than enough supplies; fewer than sixty souls called Cariford home.

The room had warmed from the fires, and Diantha ordered the shutters opened to let in as much light as possible, both upstairs and down. The sound of forks and spoons scraping tin filled the room, interspersed with occasional soft conversation or sobs.

She and a few other women made up pallets for those men who had come in from other parts of the estate to remove the debris and help repair those buildings that needed it.

She returned to the ground floor as the first of the visiting men entered. The younger women and children had returned to their homes after eating. Only a few older ones remained to help serve and wash up.

One old woman sat by the porridge pot, and Diantha picked up the ladle for the mutton stew. Most of the visitors knew her by sight and murmured amazed thanks at being handed their supper by a peeress. After working all day without hot food, they wolfed down seconds and thirds. She filled bowl after bowl, scarcely noticing the faces above them.

One bowl stayed in front of her after she put in not one, but two ladlefuls of stew. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Startled at the furious whisper, she looked up to see Kieran’s scowl. After witnessing the devastating grief of the people around her, she welcomed even his anger. “I’m serving mutton stew. And you’re slowing everyone down.” She smiled for the first time since arriving at Cariford as he looked guiltily over his shoulder, then back at her.

“We’ll talk later.”

Still smiling, she gave thanks that her husband stood glaring down at her, breath flowing in and out of his lungs. “Very well, Kier.”

He stalked away and she dipped her ladle into the mutton stew to serve the next man.

Kieran paused to thank each man as he made his way across the room. He took a place by Dr. Andrews on the hard bench against the wall. He all but groaned in relief as he leaned back against the unyielding wood. Holding his bowl, he slowly ate the mutton stew, relishing the warm food as it slid down his throat into his stomach.

The two men ate silently for several minutes before the doctor spoke. “Lady Rossburn did very well this afternoon. I thought she’d do no more than try to dispense tea and crumpets.”

His hand tightened on his bowl. “I told her to stay at Duncarie.”

The older man raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps you should have been more specific. After all, this is part of Duncarie as well.”

He gave the doctor a look. “It’s not a part she’s used to.” His gaze moved to Diantha, standing at the far end of the room, quietly collecting plates to put into the washing-up tub. “And where am I supposed to put her tonight? I planned to sleep with
the lads upstairs, but she’ll have to impose on some poor woman already suffering the loss of family.”

“Begging your lairdship’s pardon.” Kieran turned his head as an old woman missing several teeth interrupted them.

He sat up at once, giving her his full attention. “What can I do for you, madam?”

Her mouth drooped for a moment. “No’ a thing, sir, unless ye can bring back the dead. But that ain’t wha’ I was going to say. I already offered Lady Rossburn my cottage for the night, and I’d be honored if you would both bide there this evenin’.”

Kieran took one work-roughened hand in both of his. “I am profoundly touched at your offer, but Lady Rossburn and I couldn’t possibly drive you from your home, especially at a time like this.”

The old woman’s chin trembled. “ ‘Tis no’ a problem for me. I lost my husband to the sea eighteen years ago, and then yesterday my youngest son.” She looked down, fighting for composure. “I canna face going back in there yet, so I’ll stay here tonight and get breakfast tomorrow morning for this lot.”

Diantha glided up and slid an arm around the woman’s thin shoulders. “Mrs. Dunn’s daughter and son-in-law live in Ulladale. Doctor Andrews is going to take her back to stay with them when he returns home.” She smiled at the medical man where he sat.

The old woman told her to come along. “I’ve just come from lighting a fire in the hearth to warm it, and we can’t leave it unwatched.”

Diantha lifted a plain wool cloak from a hook on the wall and gracefully wrapped herself up in it.

She looked over at Kieran before following Mrs. Dunn out the door. “I shall see you in a while, my lord?”

The last thing he wanted was company, even hers, but he nodded. “Yes. I have some things to go over with the men first, though. Don’t wait up.”

His responsibilities seemed to weigh down more heavily on his shoulders after she slipped away. He took his time outlining the next day’s tasks, wanting to make sure each man understood his duties. By the time he left the Herring House, he looked forward to a night alone. He needed some time without worrying about everyone’s expectations.

Provided, of course, that his wife was asleep. Then again, given her flagrant disregard for his orders, she clearly did not look to him for leadership. Or perhaps she knew his needs better than he did himself, part of his mind whispered as he walked along the dark lane. He remembered the sense of comfort that swept over him on seeing her at supper and sighed.

Mrs. Dunn had given him exact directions to her house. He found it easily, and stealthily slipped inside the door. Light from a kerosene lamp and the dying fire illuminated an immaculately clean one-room cottage.

Diantha slept in a box bed against the wall opposite the fireplace. She left the sliding panel open in invitation. Before the hearth sat a small tin tub and two pails of water sat warming on the hearth itself.

He emptied one bucket into the tub as quietly as possible and stripped, leaving his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor. Stepping in, he soaped the linen washcloth and scrubbed every inch of his body
twice. Then he poured the clean water from the second bucket over his body to rinse off, closing his eyes to keep the water out. Blindly he reached for the towel he had noticed on the chair by the tub.

After drying himself off and pushing the tub to one side, he examined the offerings Diantha had left on the table under one of the windows. Two complete changes of clothes and a pile of thick blankets from the Duncarie linen closets. He smiled, unable to recall the last time he’d enjoyed such a sense of well-being. Then he started.

Diantha’s eyes glittered in the firelight as she stretched out in the bed, hands behind her head, frankly ogling him.

“What are you doing?”

She grinned. “Enjoying the view.” Her manner became more serious as she held out her hand. “Come to bed, Kier.”

He approached her, but did not crawl in. Gently tucking the sheets in around her he kissed her eyes and mouth. “I’m not going to be good company tonight, darling. Go to sleep, I’ll be in front of the fireplace.”

He could feel her eyes on him as he spread out the blankets into a makeshift bedroll in front of the fireplace. She must have been tired, for she soon fell back asleep.

He added some wood to the fire and stared at the flames. He did not expect to sleep tonight, just as he had not the night before.

Twenty-eight boys and men dead. Could he have prevented it?

* * *

Despite the disappointment that Kieran did not join her, Diantha had fallen asleep quickly. His tender good night had eased the sting of rejection, but the sick look in his eyes had disturbed her. She dreamed of watching helplessly while huge black birds attacked him.

She woke up disoriented. Around her was a wooden box and she heard a repetitive booming in the distance. A soft, irregular noise came from somewhere nearby. Throwing out a hand, she hit the edge of the bed. Coming to full wakefulness, she recognized the bed and the hollow thud of waves in the cove, but she could not place the other sound.

Raising herself on an elbow, she looked around the semi-dark room. Her eyes settled on Kieran. Wrapped up in his blankets, he lay before the hearth, breathing in harsh gasps.

Flinging back the blankets, she scrambled out of bed and across the floor. “Kier! What’s wrong? Tell me, please!”

Stepping around him, she knelt in front of him to see his face. When he lifted his head to look up at her, she exclaimed at his reddened eyes and wet cheeks. Diantha slid into the blankets next to him. “My dear, why are you crying?”

He answered by holding her close and burying his face in her shoulder. Grateful that he did not reject her, she wrapped her arms around him, one hand stroking his hair.

Finally he spoke. “I feel responsible for their deaths.”

She hugged him closer. Her hand dropped to
his back, brushing over tense muscles. “Why do you say that?”

From the sound of his breathing, she knew he fought to say more, and waited. “The boats they use have small open hulls. They’re easily swamped. Your father agreed to supply the village with new fishing boats built with covered hulls.”

He raised his head and looked down at her. “The new boats are scheduled to arrive next month. I delayed our marriage out of a sense of panic at being trapped. If I hadn’t, the boats would have been delivered by now and those crews might have survived.”

He released her to roll onto his side, facing her. Diantha remained silent as she digested his words. She hated thinking about his financial reasons for marrying her, but she could not deny they existed.

She adjusted herself to face him, shivering unexpectedly as the blanket lifted to allow a draft on her backside.

He pushed their covering back and slid out. “I’ll be right back.” She watched him as he squatted on the hearth, seemingly oblivious to his nudity. He built up the fire and returned to the makeshift bed.

She lifted up the top blankets to allow him to crawl back in beside her. Pulling them up over his shoulders, she scooted close to him, warming him with her body as they faced each other side by side. “You can’t blame yourself for losing those ships.”

He started to protest, but she placed her fingertips against his lips. “My dear, there are too many variables.”

“One, we were both out in the storm yesterday. We know how severe it was. Two, it was bad enough
to smash wooden buildings close to the water’s edge. Is that normal, or worse than normal?” She removed her fingers so he could answer.

He traced her hip with his hand. “Worse.”

She snuggled closer to him. “And were the men going out on your orders?”

“No.” He shook his head. “They know—” He shut his eyes and swallowed. “They knew the sea better than I ever could.”

She brushed his lips with her own. “They thought it was safe. Then that storm blew up too quickly for them to get back. And it was worse than average.”

She pushed him onto his back and leaned on her elbow, her face above his. “I don’t know how soon my father promised the new boats after our marriage, but I think it’s quite possible they would have foundered too.”

Her fingers brushed a tangle of dark hair off his cheek. He had not shaved yesterday, and the prickle of his emerging whiskers teased her skin. “And because you are a conscientious landlord, you’d be blaming yourself because they were new and the men were unused to them.”

He pulled her down to lie on his chest. Contented, she listened to him speak. “But that’s what it meant for centuries for the Rossburns. The clan system was based on ties of blood, not oaths from vassal to lord. When you put on a tartan and badge, it meant you were part of a family and that your first loyalty belonged to it.”

She lifted her head. “Ah, yes. You had to swear to love and serve the laird of the clan.” She kissed his
chest and looked at him. “Why didn’t you ask me to take that oath?”

His hand stroked down her back as he smiled. “We have a family tartan, but I’m not a clan chief.”

She kissed him again, a few inches lower. “You always think of yourself as responsible for the happiness of others.” She flicked her tongue farther down, raising gooseflesh across his skin. “I think you need to let someone take care of your needs for awhile.”

His eyes gleamed green in the firelight. “And what needs do you think require attention just now?”

Her hand slid down to fondle the rapidly hardening flesh of his erection. “I can think of one I’d like to take care of.” Becoming serious again, she placed a hand in the center of his chest. “You’ve thought enough tonight, Kier. Just lay back and feel.”