Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine (14 page)

“Nay, lad.” Fin frowned. “’Tis yer chair.”

“Please, Fin, sit.”

With a shrug, the older man made his way behind the desk and sat. “What happened tae ye? Yer face looks like ye’ve taken a hit or two. Did the debt collectors find ye?”

“Not creditors.” Jules said as he waited for Fin to settle himself.

“Then who?” the retainer asked, his frown deepening.

Jules shrugged. “It matters not. I escaped in far better condition than they did.”

His brow heavy with concern, Fin said, “Ye wanted tae see me?”

Jules nodded.

“I need to know about my father’s last days.”

Fin folded his arms over his chest and nodded.

“What do ye want tae know?”

Facing his steward, Jules paused. He didn’t know where to start as one question after another filled his mind. “Why did my father never pay for my release?”

“He had not the funds fer one thing. And I think he was just as happy tae know ye were safe enough there. He mentioned tae me once that he’d made a mistake forcin’ ye tae come home from the Lennoxes. He knew how much ye wanted to learn tae use a sword, and tae train as a knight. He said he thought yer brother who wanted nothing tae do with battle would be safer with ye around.”

“Safe from what?” Jules asked.

Fin shrugged. “I was close tae the man, but not privy tae all his doin’s.”

“What about Father’s behavior about six weeks ago? Was he doing anything unusual?” Jules continued.

“Not six weeks, but about a month ago. That’s when he started goin’ to Edinburgh. The first time he left in a hellfire hurry after receivin’ a note.”

“Grayson sent Father a note?” Jules asked.

Fin nodded. “Yer father was furious about somethin’. He sold off the last of the furnishings, and he and yer brother had a few heated fights.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been not listenin’ tae conversations around here fer so long, I couldna tell ye. But it was after the last argument that yer brother started drinkin’. Yer father’s heart gave out a week later. Yer brother died two days after that.”

As Jules listened, he tried to pull a timeline of the events together in his mind. His own discussions with Grayson had started five weeks ago. A week later, Grayson had involved Jules’s father without his knowledge. A week after that his father was dead, and the following week Claire and he were married.

Jules released a ragged sigh. He may never know the truth about what had happened or why, but he could not let that stop him from what he had to do as the current laird. “Thank you, Fin, for your honesty, and for your service as well.” Jules reached inside his coat to withdraw a small bag of gold coins, approximately one-third of what he had received from selling his mother’s ring. He set the bag on the desk before Fin. “I am certain the estate owes you far more than this in back wages, but consider this a start toward your compensation.”

Fin’s tired gray eyes widened. “Where did ye get the funds?”

“I sold my mother’s ring.” He turned and picked up the box he had leaned against the wall. “This is for you as well.”

“I had my suspicions that yer father went back into yer mother’s grave fer it nae too long ago.” His voice sounded pained.

Jules frowned as yet another piece to the puzzle his father had left behind was revealed. “Why would he violate Mother’s grave to get the ring back?”

“He must have wanted ye tae have it somethin’ fierce tae do so,” Fin replied.

Jules stared at his steward a moment, trying to make sense of why his father had given Claire something so important as the ring. Then after a moment, Jules forced his thoughts aside. He could mull things over later after he did right by Fin. Jules held the box out toward Fin, encouraging him to take it.

Fin stared suspiciously at the box, which was tied with a string. “What is it?”

Jules laughed. “Open it and find out.”

His lips pressed together in concentration, Fin pulled the string free, then lifted the lid to reveal a new gray suit, shirt, and shoes. Startled gray eyes searched Jules’s. “Milord? New clothes?”

“Yes, Fin. And when you change into them, promise me you will burn the others.”

“Thank ye, milord.” The steward smiled. “Thank ye, fer comin’ back here and fer facin’ what yer father and yer brother could not.”

A flicker of unease moved through Jules once more at the reminder, but he forced the thought away. He didn’t want to worry about that now. For the first time in years he felt eager and hopeful. He had every intention of enjoying the sensations while they lasted.

On that thought, he left the study and Fin in search of Nicholas. Another third of the funds he had received would go to his friend as partial payment for all he had spent on Jules’s behalf. The last third would go to that rapscallion from the village, Arthur Cabot, so that the young man would stop following Jules around.

Jules had been given a second chance at life, and he would find a way to pay for all his debts, including settling the one debt that annoyed him the most—the debt he owed to the mysterious person who had released him from gaol.

He did not want to be indebted to anyone ever again.

T
he last rays of the setting sun broke through the gathering clouds and came through the windows of the ballroom, bathing the room in golden light. It was as if the sunlight had battled the storm that was building outside to glory in the celebration.

The sweet melody of harpsichord, violin, and flute wove through the crowded ballroom. Jules’s gaze moved over the chamber. Never in his life had this many people been at Kildare Manor at one time, especially in this room.

He used to hate this room. Yet now, thanks to his friends, and especially Claire and her talent with a paintbrush, the chamber had been transformed from a place of horrific memories to a place where hope existed. It was more than just fresh paint and a cleaned floor that had transformed this room and his life as of late. It was Claire.

Jules swallowed to ease the tightness from his throat. It was Claire, not Jane, who filled his thoughts. Not two weeks ago he had cursed God for the terrible unfairness of his life for having taken Jane and everything else that had ever mattered away from him. Yet now, he could see the bigger picture, the divine plan that He had put into place. God was always fair and just and good, in his own time.

Jules smiled at the thought that that time was now. He turned toward the doorway of the ballroom as a stillness came over the room. “My God,” Jules breathed as Claire appeared in the doorway.

She was dressed in an emerald-green gown with elegant wide skirts and long, full sleeves that were fashionably cut to reveal a gold chemise beneath. The golden light caressed the silky texture of her loose red hair and played on the smoothness of her breasts revealed by the low cut of her bodice.

Her color was high, her step bold as she entered the chamber. And Jules had never seen her look so beautiful, or more compelling.

“Merciful heavens,” David murmured beside Jules. “She is a woman any man would find hard to ignore.”

Jules did not intend to ignore her this night, if ever again. He caught her gaze, and she returned it as though he were the only other person in the room. She came forward, as regal as a queen, as alluring as a goddess, as defiant as a warrior going into battle. Yet he could still see a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

That uncertainty moved him like nothing else ever had. This woman was as rare as they came—honest, true, and innocent. His body hardened, the blood rushing to a part of him that always responded to her nearness.

She stopped before him and smiled. Her hand came up to flutter across the swelling at his cheek and what remained of his black eye. “Does it pain you much?”

“I hardly notice.”

“I am glad to hear that,” she replied tenderly as she held out her hand. “Would you care to escort me to our wedding feast, my husband?”

She was asking for more than an escort.

He knew this moment of decision would come since he had returned home a few hours ago. He fully understood the consequences of what would happen if he let her into his heart tonight. He knew what was at risk if he gave in.

He looked down at the hand she extended. So strong, so small, so capable, and so very talented.

And yet, her fingers trembled.

Without further hesitation, he closed his fingers around hers. “My lady,” he said, loud enough for those gathered close to hear. He held her hand as they moved toward the tables that had been set up at the far end of the room. “You are beautiful tonight,” he said close to her ear.

“You are stunning yourself,” she said with a smile of appreciation at the creamy white shirt he wore beneath the MacIntyre tartan. He had dressed for her tonight, and for the first time in a very long while he was actually proud of his family’s heritage, proud of the MacIntyre name—a name he had passed on to her through their marriage.

He stopped in the center of the chamber and studied her face. “You, milady, have not been entirely honest with me.”

She stiffened, then paled. “What . . . what do you mean?”

“I’m no fool, Claire,” he said gently. “I knew you were up to something in this chamber the first time I found you here.” He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling, at the incredible painting she had begun. “Why did you not tell me then that you wished to paint?”

She forced a laugh. “You wanted nothing to do with me when I first arrived. Had I asked you then, you would have said no. I could not risk that. I had to do something to this chamber to rid it of all the painful memories.”

“You were right.” For the first time in years Jules did not feel the anger, resentment, or even the fear that usually came to him whenever he thought about this room, his stepmother, her murder, or his incarceration. He remained silent a moment then said, “However, when you told me about your work as an artist, you seriously understated your talents.”

She shrugged. “I learned long ago that most people do not believe a woman can paint.”

“I would say they are wrong.”

“You would be one of the few,” she said softly.

He smiled then. “Tonight, no one can argue with what they see.”

Again she shrugged. “I have already heard two people say they believe I had help from a painter in the village. A man.”

“Did you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.”

Jules squeezed her hand and started walking again toward the head table at the front of the room. “Then who cares what they say. We know the truth.”

Instead of his support making her happy, that ever-present sadness came back into her eyes. Regardless, she forced a smile. “Thank you for saying that. I don’t know what I would have done had you made me stop painting.”

“You can paint every wall in this old house, and when you are done here, I will buy you more walls to paint.” They reached the head table and Jules pulled out a chair for her to sit beside him. Jane and Nicholas were seated to his left. David was seated on Claire’s right, then Margaret and Hollister.

The rest of their guests had found their seats at long tables that ran perpendicular to the head table. Space for dancing remained in the back of the room for when the banquet ended. Jules marveled at the feast Claire and the new cook, Mrs. Jarve, had been able to pull together in such a short period of time. Roast venison and turnips, boiled capon, salmon, shrimp, sausages, quince pie, frangipane, and custard tarts were served by the new servants Jane and Margaret had hired in the village.

Jane
. Jules watched as she talked, her features animated, with the husband at her side. She laughed and Nicholas brought his arm up to curl around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. For once, the act of affection did not bother him. Instead, Jules smiled and turned back to Claire.

He was entranced by her expressive golden eyes, the smoothness of her skin, her scent, the way she held her chin just slightly to the left when she was uneasy or uncertain. Was she uncertain about him? His change of heart? Every aspect of his life had changed in the past few days.

Because of Claire.

Music and laughter filled the chamber—both things Jules had never expected to feel in this house again, much less in this very room.

When they had eaten, Jules pushed away from the table and held out his hand to Claire this time. “Dance with me, Claire.”

She stood then hesitated. “I’m not certain that is wise.”

He frowned. “Why not? Everyone here is expecting us to celebrate our nuptials.”

Her face grew pensive. “Have you ever wanted something so badly—something that was within your grasp—and yet you were afraid to reach out and take it?”

He knew the feeling well. “What is it you want, Claire?” He reached up to brush a wisp of hair away from her cheek. Her hair was softer tonight, less severe than it had been when she’d first arrived. And he liked it.

“You.”

His heart stilled even as the noise of the room rushed around him. His fingers pressed reflexively against her back, pulling her closer. “What did you say?” he asked in a strained voice. He’d heard her, but he needed to hear those words again.

She smiled, and the unrestrained pleasure in her face lit her eyes. “I want you, Jules. Only you.”

Claire stared into Jules’s eyes, watching them darken with desire. The music swirled around the two of them, filling her with triumphant exhilaration. A light breeze came in through the open windows and touched her cheeks as though the very wind was celebrating this moment. That wind brought with it the scents of earth and mist that were part of Kildare Manor, part of the man holding her in his arms.

“They have accepted you, you know,” Jules whispered next to her ear. A shiver raced across her flesh as the warmth of his breath ignited her sensitive skin.

The crowd moved aside for them as they danced, watching them with approving eyes. As Lady Kildare, she had won their hearts tonight. She would be a part of their lives, Jules’s life. And she wanted that reality to go on forever.

Before the thought had fully formed, the crowd parted yet again as the refrain of the song came to an end. Jules placed his hand at the center of her back to guide her not back to the table, but toward the door. “I thank you for your efforts tonight, but I would rather be alone with you right now than anywhere else in the world.”

She turned to look at him when she saw something familiar out of the corner of her eye. A familiar face. A dark head of hair.
Penelope.

Claire gasped.
Her ward
.

Penelope stood at the edge of the crowd wearing a dusty-pink gown that was far more mature than her sixteen years should have allowed.

Jules stopped his progress forward. He gazed at her curiously. “What is it, Claire?”

Claire darted forward. She had to get to Penelope. But the crowd shifted as a new melody began, and Penelope disappeared from view. A heartbeat later, the bodies before her shifted, revealing her young charge once more. Her gaze connected with Claire’s. In her frightened blue eyes Claire saw a plea for help before the young woman stepped back into the crowd and was lost.

With an anguished cry, Claire hurried through the dancers to the spot where Penelope had stood moments before.

She was gone.

Claire searched the crowd frantically and found no sight of the girl. She breathed a desperate sigh. Had it been her own imagination that tortured her now? Had she wanted this whole nightmare of kidnapping, blackmail, and lies to end so badly that she had conjured the sight of Penelope in this very room?

Jules joined Claire at her side. His hand went to her waist, pulling her against him. “What is it?”

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” she said, her words raw.
Come back, Penelope. Come back. Oh sweet heavens, I’m so sorry you are caught in all of this . . .

Claire staggered, suddenly feeling hollow and lifeless and sad. Then she felt herself being swept up into Jules’s arms. He pulled her against his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, indulging herself in the scent of him, the feel of him. He was a safe harbor in a storm that suddenly didn’t make sense.

Penelope.

Curious eyes watched them, and a few suggestive comments were tossed their way as they left the chamber. Instead of heading toward the tower bedroom, they went the other way. “My chamber?” she asked.

“You no longer sleep there, Claire. From this night on, you will sleep in my bed, next to me.”

Claire tried with every fiber of her being to ignore the haunting memory of Penelope’s face. No matter how hard she tried, the effect of seeing the young woman’s face, or imagining that she had, left a heaviness inside her.

“You have nothing to say about these new arrangements?” he asked teasingly.

“I hope to not be saying anything before long,” she replied and was rewarded with a grin.

He stopped outside his bedchamber door and pressed the latch open with his elbow. Slipping inside, they moved to the huge bed in the center of the room, where Jules set her down on the sheets that had been sprinkled with pink rose petals.

The memory of Penelope’s face slid through Claire’s mind, and she thrust it away. “Your doing?” Claire picked up a delicate petal and brought it to her nose, inhaling the heady, sweet scent. She looked up at him, then her breath hitched at the spark flaring in his blue eyes.

“Most likely ’twas Jane. I hear I have you to thank for finding the roses amongst all the weeds.” Jules sat on the bed beside her and, slowly, he removed the pins from her hair, allowing the length to fall to her shoulders and down her back.

“Your hair is glorious. You should leave it loose about your shoulders, not tied back and hidden from sight,” he said, coiling a long strand around his finger and bringing the length to his lips.

Claire watched as he intimately caressed her hair. An enveloping warmth burned at her core until she grew breathless just watching him. The sensation heightened as he traced his fingers up her arm, exploring her as though for the first time. Then his fingers vanished and his lips took their place, until he nestled into the curve of her exposed neck.

“You’re trembling,” he said in the gentlest of voices.

“I know,” she admitted with a nervous tremor in her voice. “I’m not sure why.”