The Scottish Witch (11 page)

“Bread and butter?” Lady Emma said, lifting her nose at the offered refreshments. “How quaint.” She held her portion in one hand as if afraid to take a bite.

“How delicious,” Harry countered, and it was. The butter was fresh and the bread still warm. Monty had shoved all of his in his mouth with one bite.

“So, are you enjoying your visit to our corner of the world, Colonel?” Miss Minerva asked.

“I am,” Harry said. “I don’t know why the Scots are considered such dour people. You all have been welcoming.”

“That’s because none of us in this room are Scottish,” Lady Maclean said with a twitter at what she perceived as her own cleverness. “Lady Emma’s line is English, as is mine.”

“I would rather be anything but Scottish,” Lady Emma said.

“Then how did you arrive in Glenfinnan?” Harry had to ask.

“Father bought this estate. He loves the sport here. Fishing, hunting. I can’t wait to return to London,” Lady Emma said.

“And we were victims of circumstance,” Lady Maclean said, heaving a long-suffering sigh. “My late husband, God rest his soul, was knighted for serving his country.”

That had been luck
, Harry thought. He looked over at Monty. They both knew the true story. Black Jack had been in India and rescued the daughter of an officer in the East India Company from being kidnapped. It was an adventurous tale, although most serving with Black Jack knew he was the reason the girl had almost been grabbed by slavers. They’d been in a lovers’ tryst. He wondered if the daughters thought their father a hero.

Miss Portia answered his question by saying, “He was a rogue, Mother. A rogue.” The words had just burst out of her as if any hint of untruth was unbearable to her.

“You are speaking of your father,” Lady Maclean chastised.

“I’m speaking of my sire, Mother. But he was never a father.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Emma responded in an amused tone. “May I please have some more
bread and butter
?”

“She is jesting, Lady Emma,” Lady Maclean said. “
Aren’t
you, Portia?” This was an unspoken command for Portia to mind her manners, but Portia Maclean was a rebel. She wasn’t afraid to call things as they really were. She ignored the command by suddenly becoming interested in what was in her teacup.

Her sister jumped into the sudden void of conversation by saying, “I understand it doesn’t grow truly wintry in Glenfinnan until around mid-January. Is that true, Lady Emma?”

“Yes, the days are mostly rainy but the temperature is generally mild until then,” Her Ladyship replied. “I don’t mind a bit of nip in the air.”

Lady Maclean started on about how perfect London weather was, but Harry was not interested in conversation or anyone else in the room. He couldn’t take his eyes off Portia Maclean.

He knew she was aware of him.

When she thought the conversation had gone on, she slid a glance in his direction, noticed that his focus was completely on her. She started to turn away and then stopped herself. She met his gaze with a level one of her own. Her eyes were more blue than gray. Clear eyes that didn’t flinch from what was honest.

And then she looked away.

But Harry found himself unable to do so.

Her profile intrigued him. He liked her straight nose and flawless skin. Hers was a classic beauty such as that which could be found in Greek sculpture, a beauty that was often overlooked because of its serenity.

His musing was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Miss Minerva was instantly on her feet. “I’ll see who it is,” she said breathlessly as she almost ran from the room. She opened the door and then her lovely face broke into a wide smile. “Hello, Mr. Tolliver. Please come in.” Harry recognized the name as that of the man who was now her intended.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Mr. Tolliver said.

“You could never do that,” she replied. “Here, let me take your hat.”

He handed a hat to her, but neither of them moved beyond that exchange. They stood staring at each other. They both had the silliest grins of pleasure on their faces, a sign that the couple was in love.

It was Miss Portia who gently reminded her sister, “Bring the man into the sitting room, Minnie. Or are you going to keep him all to yourself?”

Miss Minerva’s eyes brightened at her lapse of manners, and a dimple appeared in her cheek. “I might just do that.” Harry and Monty had both stood to greet this new guest.

“This is Mr. Oliver Tolliver,” Miss Minerva said, pride in her voice. “He is our local physician.”

Oliver Tolliver?
What had his parents been thinking? Harry lowered his head to hide a smile, and then his eye caught Miss Portia’s, but instead of freezing up on him, an answering smile came to her lips. She thought the name silly as well.

“Yes, I know Mr. Tolliver,” Lady Emma was saying, offering her hand. “He was very helpful when I had the croup. Congratulations on your happy news.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Tolliver said. “I am pleased you are feeling quite the thing now.” He looked to Lady Maclean, who leaned back against the settee as if not wanting to be any closer than she must to him. “It is good to see you are in fine spirits, my lady,” he said, a hopeful note in his voice.

“Yes. I am,” she replied coolly—and Harry decided he really did not like her. He hadn’t thought much of her before, but to be so rude in the face of her daughter’s happiness? There would be no pleasing a woman such as Lady Maclean. Miss Portia had spoken truly when she’d advised him to warn Monty away. He would give his friend a good talking-to, as well as advising Monty to fall on his knees and thank the Lord he’d never married her. She’d peck a man to death with her tongue, and he now had some sympathy for Black Jack.

Harry moved forward to shake the physician’s hand. “My congratulations as well. We have not met. My name is Chattan, Harry Chattan, and this is General Montheath.”

But before anything else could be said, the screech of a cat filled the air, followed by a woof.

A white blur ran through the still open front door and into the sitting room, followed by Jasper, fast on the chase with every hound instinct he had in him. He dashed right between Miss Minerva and Mr. Tolliver, almost knocking them over.

The cat raced for the safety of the settee and Lady Maclean. Jasper didn’t have enough sense to stop. He sent the table with the tray of refreshments flying into the air. The teapot landed right in Lady Emma’s lap. The girl’s cry of outrage was louder than the cat’s screeching.

But nothing was as loud as Lady Maclean’s furious demand to “
Take that beast out of here.
”

Monty jumped into the thick of things. He grabbed Jasper by the scruff of his neck and began dragging the dog out of the room, muttering, “I don’t know what has got into this dog.” Jasper clawed at the hard wood floor in an attempt to gain enough traction to pull Monty back toward the cat.

Harry was about to point out the presence of the cat. However, words died in his throat once he had a clear look at the animal’s folded-over ears.

Here was the cat who had visited his bedroom. The cat who was the sign that he’d needed to stay in Glenfinnan. The cat who’d been with the witch that night.

And the cat sought refuge from Miss Portia Maclean. She had covertly shooed the cat under her chair as if not wanting her mother to catch sight of the kitty.

For a second, Harry was so shocked he couldn’t think. All that searching, and the woman he wanted was standing right here in front of him.

Portia Maclean
had
been avoiding him, but not because of spinster shyness. She was afraid he’d recognize her.

And on some level, he had. Of course, he had thought it was physical attraction, but now he knew differently . . . or did he?

Harry paused, unwilling at this moment to confront her. One should always be certain of one’s enemy before making an attack.

Meanwhile, Monty was mumbling excuses and trying to keep control over his dog, and Miss Minerva and Lady Maclean were occupied trying to soothe Lady Emma’s offended pride.

Portia Maclean had turned her back to the room, protecting her cat from Jasper, who continued to howl and struggle against Monty’s hold although he was now outside. She couldn’t see Harry’s expression so she didn’t know that he was aware his quarry was in sight.

But the cat knew
. Her curiously shaped head popped up over her shoulder. She didn’t look in the direction of the dog. She couldn’t give a care.

Instead, the cat looked right at Harry. Her huge amber eyes seemed to gleam with a fiendish delight, almost daring him to speak out.

Fenella.
She was here.

She was Portia Maclean.

Harry turned and left the house, but he would be back.

Chapter Eight

A
fter the disaster of the afternoon, it took hours for Portia to calm her mother, who had demanded smelling salts, her dinner on a tray and a soothing hot bath.

“We’ve been humiliated,” Lady Maclean had declared. “That boor Montheath and his dog have destroyed our social standing.”

“I doubt that, Mother,” Portia had answered.

“Did you not see Lady Emma? She practically ran from the house.”

Portia could have told her mother that Lady Emma had left because Colonel Chattan had taken his leave and she was not, and never would be, interested in befriending the Macleans. But then, that comment would have set her mother off into new hysterics about losing her chance to wed Minnie to Colonel Chattan.

For her part, Minnie confessed she was delighted that their mother had something to rail against other than her intentions to marry Mr. Tolliver.

“I’m more worried over what Lady Emma will do,” Portia answered. She’d managed to free her spectacles from her mother’s grasp and now pushed them up her nose. It felt good to be able to see clearly again. A headache had been forming, but Portia didn’t know if it was from going so long without her spectacles or from the stress of the afternoon.

“She can’t blame us for what happened today,” Minnie said. “We don’t own the dog.”

“Yes, but we hurt her pride,” Portia answered. “Mother is also upset that we laughed over all the damage. She feels we are not sensitive to our social position.”

“Oh posh,” Minnie said with good humor. “The furniture was rickety to begin with. That table would have broken sooner or later. Of course, having the dregs of the teapot dumped into Lady Emma’s lap would have upset anyone. Her riding habit truly was an exquisite outfit. I don’t know that the stain can be repaired.”

They were in the kitchen, tidying up. The sisters had sent Glennis home, telling her they could take care of themselves for dinner.

Portia had to suppress her laughter at the memory. “It truly was a good moment when she stood up and put her foot right into the bread and butter plate and almost fell on her face. I know I shouldn’t make sport, but the girl is like a medieval princess in this valley. What she says goes, and if she doesn’t like someone, well, then ‘Off with her head.’ I am very tired of her petty jealousies and threats.”

“Threats? She doesn’t like one of us?” Minnie asked, looking up from where she was taking a boiling pot of water from the fire. “She has nothing to fear from me now,” she said, a smile coming to her lips. “She may claim all the men in the valley for herself. Oliver is the only man I want. Oh, Portia, I can’t believe I’m going to marry him.”

“Does it not bother you how upset Mother is?” Portia had to ask. Minnie seemed almost carefree, something that was a bit out of character.

“Of course it bothers me, but she’ll have you here and, well . . .” Her voice drifted off. She looked up at Portia. “I must live my own life. I love him, Portia. I can’t
not
be with him. I don’t expect you to understand. You are far too rational. You can’t imagine how I feel.”

“I was the one arguing
for
you and Oliver,” Portia pointed out.

“I know,” her sister said. “And I appreciate everything you’ve done. Truly, I do.”

Portia wasn’t so certain Minnie did. She focused on wiping the table with a linen cloth.

But she’ll have you here.
Minnie’s words echoed in Portia’s head. Once again, she felt trapped. Forgotten. Set aside.

Portia took the conversation back to its original thoughts and away from her own disturbing feelings. “Well, now Lady Emma may see us evicted from Camber Hall because of the scene this afternoon,” she murmured.

“Oh, Portia, is the duke truly that petty that he would listen to her?”

Portia rubbed the top of the table with her hand thoughtfully a moment before deciding to take her sister into her confidence. “Her jealousies extend beyond you,” she said. “Lady Emma made the trip over here today to warn me to stay away from Colonel Chattan. She believes he is interested in me.”

Minnie laughed. “She doesn’t know you at all, does she?”

“What do you mean by that?”

Her sister shrugged as if realizing she might be treading on tender ground. She started ladling hot water into pitchers to be carried upstairs for the bedrooms as she said, “He’s a rake. And a womanizer. He may be dashing but he’s too much.”

“Too much what?” Portia pressed.

“Well, too much for you. You are not his sort of woman.”

Portia didn’t know if she liked the description. “What sort of woman is his sort?”

Again, Minnie shrugged as if realizing she might be on tender ground. She picked up two pitchers, preparing to leave the room and avoid the question.

“Is Lady Emma his sort of woman?” Portia asked.

A cautious look came to Minnie’s eye. “I don’t know. She has a dowry.” She’d tossed that last off as if to explain away her comment.

But Portia was in the mood to take offense.

This afternoon, for a moment, she’d thought there was a connection between her and Colonel Chattan. She’d let herself consider that he might be attracted to her. Certainly, she had found herself attracted to him. That spark had been lit when she’d made the statement about her father, a strong one, to be sure, and had noticed a bit of admiration in the colonel’s eye when she’d not apologized for her opinion of Black Jack.

And although Minnie was speaking aloud thoughts Portia had had about herself, the verdict stung. Her sister was usually more loyal. Perhaps the prospect of becoming Mrs. Oliver Tolliver made her believe herself better than Portia?

The bitterness, the hurt behind this sort of thinking was dangerous. Now might be a good time to put distance between herself and her sister.

“I must see to Honey and bring in the goats,” she said, crossing over to where her cloak hung on a peg. She reached for the oil lamp and went over to the fire to light it.

“Portia, I didn’t mean all what I said quite the way it sounded. It’s just that Colonel Chattan is known for the lovers he has taken. They are the cream of the cream. Lusty women. Women who aren’t good enough to polish your shoes. I hope I haven’t upset you.”

“You haven’t,” Portia said, carrying her lamp and moving toward the door.

“I know that tone of voice. You’ve taken offense. Please, Portia, I’m just saying someone like Colonel Chattan is not the sort of man for you.”

Portia paused by the door, one hand on the latch. “What sort of man would be for me, Minnie?”

Her sister raised her brows and seemed to mentally scramble for words.

“Never mind,” Portia answered. “I know that I’m long of tooth. I’m done. I was done before I ever started. But there was a moment this afternoon when I thought—” She stopped. She’d not told Minnie of meeting Colonel Chattan alone at the dance. Her sister had been too busy accepting Mr. Tolliver’s proposal of marriage to worry about Portia’s whereabouts at the time.

“Thought what?” Minnie asked.

“Thought I didn’t know why the ladies were all so giddy around him,” Portia finished.

“I understand why,” Minnie said with a laugh. “He is handsome. I might be giddy around himself, except now I have my Ollie.”

Portia smiled, but didn’t feel any mirth. In her happiness, her sister was throwing darts at every insecurity Portia had and hitting them.

“I need to see Honey.” Portia turned the handle and slipped outside.

The moon was rising and the night air felt good on her skin. She did not like fighting with Minnie. But she also didn’t like her life very much right now.

Minnie would leave the house and someday have children with Oliver Tolliver, and Portia would have nothing.

Of course, she would be the doting aunt, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want something
more
out of life. Something of her own.

And just because she was older didn’t mean that she didn’t yearn in the way other, younger women did. Her head could be turned by Colonel Chattan, and it was. She wasn’t as sensible as everyone gave her credit for.

She stopped and looked up at the moon, remembering how the colonel had appeared that night by the Great Oak, remembering him on his knees in front of her, begging her to take his life for his brother’s. She’d never thought that a man, especially one such as he, for whom everything came his way, could be so noble. He’d meant those words. He would sacrifice himself for another.

And if there was anyone who understood sacrifice for a family, it was Portia.

Tears burned her eyes, born out of a longing for what she could not have.

Portia lifted her spectacles and swiped at her tears. She was being a goose. She’d come to terms with her fate a long time ago. She lived for Minnie and for their mother. That was it. Her purpose . . . and there was no wishing it away.

Resolution, that was what she needed. She must not yearn for what she could not have.

Setting her glasses back on her nose, Portia marched into the barn, and almost said something ugly when she realized she had not finished with her chores that morning. Lady Emma had interrupted her and then the events of the day had taken over. Well, work healed the troubled soul.

She hung the lamp on a peg in a supporting beam and set to work.

Quickly, Portia brought in the pony and the goats. She picked up the pitchfork and, to the sound of the animals munching, she started jabbing at the straw with all her might. Work relieved frustration. Work put at bay desires a woman such as she should not have. Work was what life was about, wasn’t it?

“So at last I see the spectacles,” Colonel Chattan’s deep voice said from behind her.

Portia whirled around.

As if she had conjured him, Colonel Chattan stood in the door leading to Honey’s paddock. He wore his greatcoat. He was hatless and his face was devilishly pale in the shadows. His eyes were two hard shards of light. He was angry.

And for a second, her heart quit beating.

He walked toward her. “Hello,
Fenella
.”

Portia wanted to take a step back. To run.

She couldn’t move.

He moved into the circle of lamplight surrounding her, stopping when they were almost toe to toe. He placed his hands on her upper arms, squeezing, lifting her up until she stood on the tips of her toes. He stared into her eyes as if he could read her very soul.

She started shaking. He was too close, too powerful, too strong, too driven.

“
Why?
” he asked.

One word for which there was no easy answer.

“I’m not Fenella,” she whispered.

He shook his head in disbelief.

“
I’m not her
,” she insisted. “I wish I could help you but I can’t.”

“The
cat
,” he said. “The cat is
yours
.”

Portia shook her head. She didn’t understand his meaning. “The cat? Owl?”

As if summoned, Owl padded into the barn with a low sound of feline satisfaction in seeing them there.

Heedless of the tension between them, Owl purred and rubbed her back against his leg.

“Yes, the cat,” Colonel Chattan ground out. “I was almost fooled. I was going to leave Glenfinnan until you sent your cat to me. You wanted me to stay and so I did. Well, here I am, Fenella. What do you want to lift the curse?”

“I’m not her,” Portia said, her voice faint. “I have no powers.”

Owl now wove herself around and through their legs, brushing against Portia’s skirts and his boots, purring as she did so, the sound growing louder.

The air about them seemed to change, to grow warmer.

He was so close to her she could see every line in his face and the color deep in his eyes. “I didn’t send a cat,” Portia whispered.

A rush of heat, of desire rose between her legs. If she leaned forward, her breasts would graze his chest and they wanted to do so. They tingled in a way she’d not experienced before.

His grip on her arms tightened. His eyes had darkened. The anger turned to something she could not name. It was he who moved closer until their bodies fit together. She could feel his heat, his hardness.

She had never been this close to a man before.

Still Owl purred, the sound growing until it drowned out everything save the racing beat of her pulse.

He was handsome. Noble. A man unlike any other.

A man every woman wished to kiss.

A man who had captured her imagination in a way she’d not believed possible.

A man who brought his lips down upon hers.