Forgetting the Scot (Highlanders of Balforss) Page 8

  The tavern mistress met them at the foot of the stairs. Wiry gray coils of hair stuck out every which way from beneath her kertch, giving her a wild look. “I’ve set aside a table for you by the fire, Lady Sinclair. Right this way.”

  Magnus held the chairs out for the ladies one at a time, demonstrating his manners and controlling the seating arrangement.

  “It’s yourself, Magnus.”

  He winced at Evelyn’s coquettish greeting and any hope he had of avoiding her disappeared. The voluptuous barmaid sashayed toward their table carrying a tray of food.

  “House specialty. Mrs. Gunn’s beef stew.” She placed a large round of warm bread in the center of the table, then clunked a wooden bowl of stew in front of each occupant. She served him last and bent low. Paps the size of ripe melons nearly fell out of her bodice. “I was heartbroken when I learnt I missed you the last time you were in town.”

  He kept his eyes averted from the woman’s bounty. “Evening, Evelyn.”

  She whispered so the whole table could hear, “I’m here all night. Dinnae be a stranger.” Evelyn walked away, her backside twitching to and fro, an exaggerated performance of Virginia and Charlotte’s earlier display.

  He dipped his head and shoveled beef stew into his mouth, swallowing without tasting a bite.

  “Slow down, dear,” Flora said. “It’s bad for the digestion to bolt your food.”

  “Yes, there’s no hurry, Mr. Sinclair.” Lady Charlotte arched a wolfish eyebrow. “She’ll be here all night.”

  He pressed his lips together, afraid his response to Lady Charlotte’s jab would be too sharp. The noise from the other tavern patrons covered what would have been a long, long uncomfortable silence.

  When they had finished supper, Virginia pulled a folded note from her pocket and set it next to his hand. “Is there someone here who would deliver a message? We would like to visit Morag tomorrow, if possible.”

  “Of course.”

  “Lady Charlotte and I may never get another chance, you see.”

  He let the implication of her statement sink in. She was leaving Scotland soon. He slipped the note into his pocket and swallowed hard. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you. Oh, I should give him coin.” She searched inside her purse.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s awfully kind of you.”

  “Seems Mr. Sinclair is very generous with his favors when it comes to the ladies,” Charlotte put in, riding the fine line between good-natured teasing and meanness.

  “Ignore Lady Charlotte.” Virginia glared across the table. “She’s tired from the long ride.”

  “As am I.” Auntie Flora tossed her serviette on the table and rose. “Come, ladies. Let’s retire.”

  He stood for Flora and Charlotte. Flora paused when Virginia didn’t stand. “Are you coming, dear?”

  “I’ll be along soon. I’d like to finish my ale.”

  After Flora and Charlotte had gone above stairs, he lowered himself into his chair next to the viscountess. They faced the fire, their backs to the rest of the room, the rest of the world. They sat for a minute, quiet, motionless, while the loud tavern whirled around them. Between the heat, the noise, and her nearness, he started to feel dizzy. He hooked a finger inside his collar and tugged, unable to stifle a growl of irritation. He was certain his stock had cut off circulation to his head.

  “If your cravat is uncomfortable, you can take it off. I don’t mind.”

  “Jesus, God. Why do men wear these bloody things?” He yanked off the stock in two short jerks and opened the front of his shirt. “I thought I was going to suffocate.”

  She made that lovely husky bedroom laugh, and the skin on the back of his neck burned. He fixed his gaze on the fire, determined not to be seduced by this woman. He was not one of her followers. She might be a noblewoman, but he was in control of this moment. Not her.

  “I see your whiskers have returned. Your stitches are gone, and the scar is hardly noticeable.”

  “Aye.”

  Another long span of quiet passed. He waited for her to say something, anything. Because, if she made one coy remark, said one flirtatious thing, if she even attempted to tease him, he’d dress her down and put her straight. Still, she said nothing. He stole a sideways glance at Virginia. Blast her for sitting there all innocent, sipping her ale, and looking pretty. Blast her for smelling like sweet heather. And blast her for not knowing that being this close to him in his agitated state put her in grave danger.

  Then she turned to him with green eyes brimming. “You’re still cross with me.” Her slight smile trembled.

  Frigging hell. One look from her and he was undone. He clamped his jaw tight and shook his head.

  “Then, can we be friends?” she asked.

  Friends? Ha! Being friends with Virginia would be nothing short of torture. “I dinnae ken.”

  “I’m sorry Lady Charlotte was so rude.”

  “Dinnae be sorry. I’ve given Evelyn reason to expect my attention.”

  He must have scored a hit. Whatever interior scaffolding that held highborn ladies so stiff and proud gave way, and her slight frame sagged on a sigh.

  “But that was before,” he said.

  “Before what?”

  Before I saw you, held you, kissed you. He could have said any of those things, and he would have spoken the truth. Instead he said, “Before I met someone else.”

  “Oh. I see.” She turned back to the fire and took another sip of ale. “And you’ll marry this person one day?”

  “Nae.”

  “Why?”

  God, what could he say that wasn’t a lie and yet wouldn’t reveal his need? “She belongs to another.”

  “Does she know that she’s special to you?”

  He smiled because he hadn’t realized how special Virginia was to him until now. “Perhaps, but I cannae tell her. It wouldnae be proper.”

  “But what if she doesn’t know?” She leaned toward him, her face only inches from his, and she stopped her squinting. “You should tell her before it’s too late.”

  Christ. She knew. She must know he was talking about her. Feeling reckless and shattering all boundaries, he bent his head and whispered to her so close his lips brushed the tip of her downy earlobe. “I fear it’s too late for me already, Viscountess.” Jesus, now who was the tease?

  She exhaled one shuddering breath against his cheek. “She must be very sorry.” When she pulled away, she kept her eyes downcast. Was she hiding from him? Concealing her reaction to his words?

  “Good night,” she whispered.

  He waited at the bottom of the stairs until he was certain she’d reached her room. Shite. He’d forgotten to ask her why she hadn’t written to her husband.

  He sent Mrs. Gunn’s errand boy out into the rain with Virginia’s missive. On his way to his room, Evelyn accosted him at the stairs. “Shall I visit your bed tonight?”

  Hers was a tempting offer. He was still roused from Virginia’s words, but a toss with a poor substitute would hardly slake his desire on this, of all evenings.

  Chapter Four

  Virginia undressed, put on her night rail, and braided her hair for bed.

  “Goodness, dear,” Flora said. “You’re looking quite flushed.”

  “Perhaps I drank too much ale.”

  “Get yourself under the covers. The rain’s brought a chill with it. It’s bound to be better weather tomorrow.”

  She snuggled beneath the counterpane in the bed she shared with Charlotte and closed her eyes. Magnus was still angry that she’d lied. Perhaps he would never forgive her. But the conversation that had followed about the woman he wanted but couldn’t have had been confusing. What had he meant when he’d whispered, I fear it’s too late for me already, Viscountess? Her ear still tingled from the brush of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the heat of his words.

  Imagining that Magnus cared for her—even a little—was folly. But she couldn’t keep herself f
rom the sweet torture. She would dream of Magnus tonight—dreams in which he would catch her in his arms, crush her to his broad chest, and kiss her senseless.

  The next morning, she awoke with the hope that Magnus wasn’t quite so grumpy as he had been the night before. He met them for breakfast in the tavern room with excellent news.

  “Morag’s mam invites you all to dinner this afternoon.” He smiled at Flora. It pleased him to deliver happy news. This was the way people who care for one another behaved. They did things for each other, hoping to please them. Not like Langley, who derived pleasure from inflicting pain on others.

  “Splendid, but that leaves us less time to complete our errands. Magnus, dear, would you help Lady Langley find her spectacles man while Charlotte and I get our shopping done?”

  Magnus choked on his porridge, swallowed hard, and wiped his mouth. He made a sound of distinct irritation, and Virginia’s hope that he’d stopped being grumpy dissolved. Flora had probably spoiled his plans for an afternoon with the tavern maid.

  “Of course,” he said.

  She couldn’t see his expression, but there was no warmth in his voice.

  “Dinnae take your eyes off Lady Langley. Not everyone has come to market to trade, aye?”

  “Dinnae fash yourself, Auntie. I’d never let anything bad happen to her.”

  Lady Charlotte cleared her throat with a high-pitched, “Ah-hem?”

  “Nor would I allow any harm to come to Lady Charlotte or you, Auntie,” Magnus was quick to add.

  “Fine, then. We’ll meet at the market cross at half three.”

  Drat. A glowering ogre would drag her through the market with the single-minded purpose of finding her spectacles and leaving her company as soon as possible. If she had to guess, Magnus would sooner drop her into the harbor than spend all morning ushering her around.

  When they parted with Flora and Charlotte, Magnus growled down at her, “Take hold of my arm and dinnae let go. The city is crowded, and it would be easy to become separated.”

  She hooked her gloved hand around his right elbow. When he tucked his thumb into the waist of his trousers, his arm muscle flexed, and she found herself absently running her fingers over the rock-hard bulging muscle.

  “We’ll start at this end and work our way up and down the rows of booths.” He took a logical approach to their search. Had it been up to Virginia she would have raced willy-nilly all over the market. She might have found her spectacles man faster but would have expended far too much energy. So, she reined in her excitement and concentrated instead on the protective way Magnus trapped her hand between his elbow and his ferociously warm body.

  The market seethed with crowds of people ebbing and flowing like the sea. The rain from the night before had left the ground slippery with mud. She lost her balance twice, but Magnus was at hand to catch her fall. Both times, he’d righted her with gentle hands and a questioning, “You all right now?” His earlier grouchiness seemed to have abated. Her glowering ogre had been replaced by a taciturn giant.

  They took their time, stopping at every table no matter what was on offer. Magnus asked every merchant, “Do ye ken the man what sells spectacles?” Most everyone said they recollected someone of that nature but was not certain they’d seen the fellow set up his wares that day. After two hours, her buzzing excitement had transformed into a kind of throbbing desperation.

  “Dinnae fash,” Magnus said. “We’ll find him.”

  What’s changed? Why is he being nice to me now?

  He turned to the next merchant. “Do ye ken the man what sells spectacles?”

  The fishmonger pulled another silver-skinned salmon out of a bucket and slapped it on top of the others. “There’s your man, Fat Henry.” He pointed across the aisle through a dense knot of people. “I ken he sells the eye baubles.”

  She released Magnus and tried to squeeze through the throng of buyers all keen on whatever Fat Henry had on his table. “Sir,” she called, then was edged out by a big woman. She tried again. No one would budge. “Excuse me, please.” Their backs were deaf to her plea.

  Magnus stepped up behind her and bellowed, “The Viscountess Langley would like a keek at your wares, if ye please.”

  Heads turned curious gazes her way. Apparently, any mention of a viscountess caused a stir in these parts. A pathway opened, and she stepped up to the table. A man whose chin disappeared into his fleshy neck peered over an assortment of pots, pans, tools, shoes, gloves, wigs, and various other items for which Virginia could not conceive of an application. “It is my pleasure to serve you, m’lady,” the man said with undisguised avarice.

  “I’m in need of spectacles.”

  Fat Henry disappeared below his table for a moment. He stood back up with a slim black box which he held close to her face. The top popped open revealing six pairs of spectacles, some rimmed in silver, some gold, some round shaped, some rectangular. One pair even had articulating leather guards at the sides.

  “Please, give them a try.”

  “Go on then,” Magnus urged.

  She removed her gloves and with shaky hands, plucked the most likely looking pair from the display box, dipped her head, and placed them on her face. When she looked up, no change. She tried the next pair, and the next, and the next. Still, no measurable change in her eyesight. One pair even made her sight worse, if that was possible. At last, she tried the one with the leather blinders. She must look like a cart horse wearing them. Magnus hooked her chin with a finger and tipped her head up.

  “Can you see me?”

  “No.” Her chin wobbled. She removed the goggle spectacles, handed them back to Fat Henry, and thanked him with as much grace as possible.

  “I’m sorry, lass,” Magnus said. Something about the way he called her lass, like an endearment, made her feel a little better.

  “It’s all right. I’m no worse than I was when I woke up this morning.” She tried to sound cheery, yet tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

  “Beg pardon, m’lady.” A stout-looking man called to her. “M’lady, I’d have a word!” He squeezed his belly around an older woman and lurched forward. When Magnus stepped in his way, the man must have realized he was seen as a threat, and checked his enthusiasm. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He tipped his hat and made a polite bow. “I’m William Campbell, printer by trade. I happened to overhear your exchange, and I’m certain the citizens of Wick would be interested to know Lady Langley has visited their humble town.”

  She tightened her grip on Magnus’s arm. Printers spread news. The last thing she wanted was attention. Magnus put a big warm hand over her gloved one, seeming to sense her unease.

  “Go away,” Magnus said.

  Mr. Campbell became flustered. “If I could just have five minutes of Her Ladyship’s time to—”

  “Go away,” Magnus repeated. “We’ve business to complete. Good day.”

  “But—”

  Magnus ushered her away from Mr. Campbell.

  “Thank you. I don’t like speaking to newsmen.”

  “I dinnae like speaking to Campbells,” he said.

  She glanced up at him in confusion. “But Flora said your mother is a Campbell.”

  “Aye. Horse thieves. All of them.”

  When she smiled, he chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made her toes curl with happiness.

  “Let’s not give up, aye?” he said, giving her hand a reassuring pat. “There could be someone else. Another vender with specs. Come. We’ll buy Lucy’s sweeties and keep searching for your eye baubles.”

  At last, she understood. It was when she was in distress, when she needed help, that Magnus warmed to her. When he was able to rescue her, even in a small way, his voice changed, his body relaxed, and his words softened. He was unable to be anything but a hero—even her hero, as unlikely as that seemed.

  …

  He almost missed it—the caravan wagon with the piebald cart horse tucked behind an elderberry bush on the corner of a side street.
A raggedy looking Romany fellow with a long, tapered beard, thin and bent like there was something wrong about his back, lifted the hinged wooden flank of the caravan and propped it open with poles revealing a jumble of colorful items within.

  “There,” Magnus said turning Virginia gently to face the side street. “Let’s try him.”

  It was nearing the time when they would have to stop searching and meet Auntie Flora at the market cross. If he didn’t find her spectacles, he would have failed her. He couldn’t let her down. With all the bad that had befallen the lass, he needed to give her this one good thing. Plus, she’d borne his sullen treatment all morning without complaint. The truth was, it took far more effort to remain angry with her, and he was feeling guilty about his crabbit behavior.

  “Hallo, sir,” he called out to the Romany fellow. “Have ye got any spectacles for sale?”

  The bent man straightened slightly and turned. He was perhaps thirty but gave the impression of being much older. The man was wearing spectacles himself. He swirled his hand at the wrist, beckoning them to come nearer. Magnus had never been comfortable around the Romany. He’d heard too many strange tales about their magic.

  A movement inside the caravan made him tense. The face of an exotic-looking black-haired woman peered out of the caravan. She was beautiful in a disconcerting way, the kind of dark beauty that could lure a man to his death.

  The Romany man said, “Come. Come. You see what Dominic has for you today. A beautiful necklace maybe? Silk stockings for the lady?”

  “We’re in need of spectacles,” he said.

  Dominic turned to the black-haired woman and spoke a language Magnus had never heard. It sounded like shouting.

  “Come, come. My sister, Irina, has the eyes for you.” Dominic snapped his fingers impatiently at the dark woman. She made a sharp comment in their language and handed Dominic a bundle of calico cloth.

  Virginia stepped forward, hope radiating off her. Dominic unwrapped the kerchief revealing three pairs of spectacles within. Again, Virginia removed her gloves and tried each. Hopeful, as she lifted her chin. Saddened when she lowered and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. None of these will do. Thank you, sir.”