Authors: Her Highland Protector
‘Perhaps it is more your opinion I am seeking. In my cousin’s absence.’
His gut gave a nasty lurch and tossed his dinner upwards towards his throat. Suddenly, he wished he had not refused the whisky.
She gave him a quick glance and returned her gaze to her drink. ‘I wondered...’ She paused, swirling the liquid in the glass as if trying the words out in her head before actually saying them. Picking over them with care, if her frown was anything to go by.
His heart stilled. She was not going to ask him... No. Oh, no. ‘It is not my place to offer an opinion,’ he said swiftly, surprising himself at how easily the words formed on his tongue, when his tongue felt rather too large to fit behind his teeth.
‘But you have formed one?’
‘No.’ He could see that answer was too blunt. Too cryptic. He got his thoughts in order. Spoke carefully. ‘All of these gentlemen are approved of by your cousin. They must all be equally...equally...’ What? Equally idiotic? Rich? Connected? He shrugged, lost for words. He did not like equivocating, but he would not give her his opinion. Because if she listened to him, she would be sending all of them back where they came from.
And not because there was anything wrong with them.
She stared at him. Her shoulders slumped. ‘I see.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I thought it would be easy. I find I don’t know how to choose,’ she said huskily. ‘And I only have a week. They are all perfectly pleasant, each in his own way. They are all of good family and suitably wealthy. But how can I be sure I understand their real characters in such a short time?’
Wealth. Was that all she cared about? What he wanted to say and what he should say were so diametrically opposed. He remained silent.
‘What if I said I was leaning towards Mr McBane, then?’
A man nearly old enough to be her father. His mouth tightened.
‘You don’t like the idea?’
‘I don’t have an opinion, my lady,’ he said woodenly.
‘You perhaps prefer Mr Oswald?’
The man set his teeth on edge. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then it is Mr. Murray you favour?’
‘I favour none of them.’ He cursed inwardly at the harshness in his voice. He gentled his tone, forced a smile that he had the feeling was more like a grimace. ‘I mean, my lady, it is your decision.’
She finished her drink and turned away, looking towards the hearth, the fire dancing in her hair like flame and heat. And if he wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremble in those milky-white shoulders. ‘You are of no more help than Mrs Preston,’ she declared. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you.’
The tone in her voice said she’d thought he’d let her down. For some reason she had expected him to have the key to choosing the right man. And damn him, he had the urge to offer help. But how?
He recalled words his grandfather had said to him and his brothers time and again. ‘The true worth of a man can only be judged by his ordinary behaviour in extraordinary circumstances.’ He winced as he realised he had spoken out loud. But it had been on his mind while listening to those three men brag and posture, jostling for position in the marriage horse race after she’d left them in the dining room, as if it was his decision as to which of them would be the winner. They clearly were thinking about themselves and not the woman for whom they vied.
She whirled to face him, her skirts belling around her tiny feet. ‘What sort of circumstances?’
‘How he accomplishes a difficult goal. Some worthy objective.’
Her head tilted. ‘Oh. Like the fairy tale. The princess who set her suitors tasks so she could choose the right man to marry. Stealing gold from a dragon.’
He stared at her blankly. The molasses once more made it impossible to follow the twist and turn of her mind. He had thought they were talking about the men who had come to offer for her hand. ‘There is no such thing as dragons.’
She frowned. ‘I know. But something of that nature. Something that would test their mettle.’
He wished he’d never mentioned it. Because he remembered the circumstances surrounding those words spoken by his grandfather each spring with a feeling of nausea.
‘What if we have each of them rescue me from some sort of danger?’ she mused.
The hairs on his nape rose. ‘What if they fail?’
Her eyes slowly focused on him, as if she had been drawn back from somewhere far away. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, if you are in danger and the man fails, what then?’
‘Oh, you will be there to straighten everything out.’
‘Me?’ He felt as if a huge weight had landed on his shoulders.
‘Yes. It is your idea.’
‘It is not my idea to put you in danger.’ He dragged through what had been a pleasant buzz in his mind and was now a poisonous fog, searching for something that would keep this under control. ‘Test their dancing skills. Their intelligence. Their...I don’t know...their competence with regard to putting food on the table. You suggested they go shooting. Pick the one who bags the most pigeons.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t care much about how they shoot, or dance, or ride. And my understanding is that most gentlemen do all these things very well.’
‘Even Oswald?’ He could not keep his lips from forming a smirk at the thought of that fussy gentleman doing anything that involved breaking a sweat.
‘I think Mr Oswald has more to him than he lets on.’
‘Then pick him,’ Niall said and winced at the irritation in his voice.
She put her hands on her hips and looked at him, but she wasn’t seeing him, she was seeing something else entirely. He wanted to move out of her line of sight. He did not like the way she was looking right through him. He remained still. Waiting for her to realise it was all nonsense. She wasn’t brainless. She’d see it in a moment or two. And then he could crawl into his bed and try not to dream about kissing her and more.
She drifted to the sofa and sat down. ‘What I want to know is,’ she said softly, so softly it was almost a whisper, ‘will they make decisions that are just and fair? Will they keep their word, no matter what the temptation? Will they deliver on a promise, no matter what? These are things I must know before I make a decision.’
He found himself dropping down to sit beside her, looking into stormy eyes and feeling as if he was sinking fast. ‘Why? What does it matter? They are all wealthy. All well connected and all approved by Lord Carrick. Pick the one you like best.’ And end his torture.
‘But which one will be best for Braemuir.’
He frowned. ‘I thought Braemuir was a house. And land.’
A tinge of red coloured her cheeks. Anger. Or passion. It lit her from the inside out as he gazed at her. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘How could you? How could anyone? I love Braemuir. I grew up there and always knew it would be mine one day. Braemuir is who I am. What I am. The house. The land and its people. It has been neglected for too many years. The man I marry, the next Baron Aleyne, must be willing to invest in its future. And soon if it is to be saved. I must make the right choice.’ She looked at him, her eyes full of fire. ‘I promised my father.’
Passion indeed. A great responsibility for such a small delicate lass. Yet she had more determination than most men. And he certainly understood her sense of responsibility. But he could not see how he could help her make her choice.
‘You definitely need to ask them to fight a dragon.’
She laughed then. A genuine laugh full of honesty that made his heart grow too large for his chest. ‘I don’t think there are any in these parts,’ she said, still smiling, eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘But I have only a week. And while I have a sense of each of them, I think you are right, you cannot really tell what someone is like until they are thrown into a situation out of their control. Mr Murray is handsome and energetic, but I wonder about his intelligence. Mr McBane is a true gentleman, mild of manner, kindly and yet seemingly lacks purpose. And Mr Oswald...’
‘A man-milliner.’
‘Beneath all that fussiness is a wicked sense of humour and a great deal of cleverness. But I very much suspect he hides who he really is.’
Niall wasn’t convinced. He’d met men like Oswald before. They cared only for the set of their coat and the height of their cravat and the latest gossip. But then a wealthy man didn’t need to care for much else. Unless it was snaring a title.
‘There is good and bad in all men, I suppose,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Which is why the idea of a test is so appealing. Something that will make one of them stand out against the others. There has to be something we could devise.’
Or make them all look like idiots. The thought was a sharp bright light in his mind. A very tempting flash of brilliance.
To what end? She’d only have to start again. And Carrick would be as displeased with him as he would be with himself. He had been given a simple task and it did not involve endangering either Lady Jenna or her suitors.
On the other hand...
‘What?’ she asked.
He looked at her. Could she read his thoughts? He hesitated.
‘Tell me,’ she demanded.
The dark ugly thing inside him refused to be silenced. ‘There was this annual competition between us Gilvry lads each spring. Our grandfather would give a prize for the one who collected the most eggs from the gulls on the cliffs.
‘A test of daring.’ She sounded disappointed.
‘Not entirely. One year, while we were all climbing up the way, Drew tied a rope to a boulder and went down. He won easily.’
She frowned. ‘What is your point?’
‘Ian, my older brother, was furious.’ He laughed as he remembered Ian’s fury. ‘He said it was cheating. By going down on a rope, he had two hands free, you see, whereas everyone else needed one hand to hang on to the rocks. My grandfather said there was nothing in the rules to say he had to climb upwards and gave him the prize.’
She wrinkled her small nose and he had a terrible urge to kiss the tip. He was leaning towards her with that very purpose in mind when she spoke. ‘How does it fit our current situation?’
He halted the pursuit of her nose to think about the answer. ‘My grandfather said it showed that in addition to courage, Drew had more than his fair share of wit. After that, we all went looking for other ways to win.’ He could not help a foolish smile, recalling how Logan, to go one better than Drew, had paid a boy to lead his donkey slowly along the cliff face and collected more eggs in one hour than the rest of them had managed in a day. Grandfather had deducted the cost of the boy and the donkey out of the value of the prize.
‘Did you ever win?’
That stopped him cold. Sobered him. Somewhat. ‘Once.’
‘How?’
‘By climbing the cliffs at night. At night, the birds can’t fly at you and try to knock you off the cliff.’ And he hadn’t been able to see how far it was to the ground. It was the only time he’d ever climbed higher than ten feet from the sand. There weren’t many eggs at that level.
‘They fly at you?’ Her voice rose in a squeak. ‘But wasn’t it dangerous in the dark?’
It had been freeing. But he’d never told anyone that part, because his brothers would have laughed harder at him than usual. He had dreaded that contest every year. Loathed it. His grandfather had deemed it a foolish risk, given him a tongue-lashing as he gave him his prize.
‘Are you suggesting we ask the gentlemen to collect eggs?’
‘No. It was an example, that was all.’
She tilted her head. ‘If it was good enough for your grandfather, I don’t see why it shouldn’t be good enough for me.’
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to imagine the gentlemen sitting around that table tonight scrambling up a cliff. A chuckle rose in his throat. ‘They won’t do it.’ Hell, he’d barely done it himself. ‘Better to find a dragon.’
She laughed again, shaking her head this time. And he once more felt inordinately pleased. Beyond pleased, because when she smiled her whole face lit up. And for an instant the shadows were gone. And the way her mouth curved upwards at the corners when she smiled made him want to touch it with his tongue.
He forced himself not to look at her mouth. Or her chest. He gripped his hands on his knees and looked at the fire, watched the flames dancing. He’d like to dance with her. Hold her in his arms, whirl her around the room until she was giddy. Then he’d walk with her in a moonlit garden and kiss her senseless. ‘You should hold a ball. Let the gentlemen court you properly.’
She turned a pretty shade of pink. ‘We will talk more in the morning.’
When he was sober and careful. He turned to her, gazing into her eyes, losing himself. ‘Jenna,’ he breathed.
‘Niall, please. You must go now.’
Because she knew he wanted to kiss her. And she didn’t want it. Of course she didn’t, any more than he did. He was cup-shot. Surely he’d be kissing any woman who came into his field of vision.
‘We will discuss this in the morning, when you are more yourself.’ The words were kindly meant, but it felt as if they cut a strip from his hide.
When was he ever himself around her? He pushed to his feet and looked down at her. The shadows in those green eyes clung there like mist among the hills. He wanted to hold her and tell her it would all be all right. That whichever of these men she chose, everything would be fine. Only how could he promise such a thing, when he was filled with doubt?
‘Goodnight, Mr Gilvry.’
He bowed. ‘Goodnight, my lady.’ He felt proud when he managed to leave in a perfectly straight line. Almost as proud as he had when he won the egg contest. The need to win, the need to prove himself as good as his brothers, had pushed him beyond what made sense. When his mother had heard what he’d done, she’d declared an end to their annual contest.
His brothers had been furious that he had ruined their fun.
He’d been so utterly relieved. And then he’d felt like the worst kind of coward.
A cuckoo in the Gilvry nest was what he was. Undoubtedly.
Chapter Six
M
r Gilvry looked sterner than usual when he presented himself in the drawing room the next morning. ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said with an abrupt bow. ‘You wished to speak with me?’
Mrs Preston smiled at him vaguely. ‘We were wondering about the entertainments for the gentlemen.’
His frown deepened. ‘Given the weather, I would suggest a game of billiards, ma’am.’
The weather was abysmal. Rain rattled against the windowpanes and the wind was whistling down the chimney.
Jenna rose to her feet and went to look out at the dismal day. ‘Do you think the weather will clear later, Mr Gilvry?’
‘No, my lady.’
So brusque. Once again trying to put her at a distance. But she needed his help. She stared out across the town to where the sea should be, now hidden in mist. ‘Surely that is a patch of blue there on the horizon?’
As she had hoped, he came to stand beside her. Or rather, not quite beside her, a little back from the window. He barely glanced out. ‘I see naught but rain clouds.’
‘Have you thought any more about our idea from last night?’ she asked in a low voice.
He gave her a startled look and glanced back at Mrs Preston, who was busy setting a stitch.
‘She can’t hear us over the noise of the rain,’ Lady Jenna said softly.
His jaw hardened, giving his already grim expression an edge of sternness. ‘I have not thought any more about it, my lady. Except to decide that it was and is a bad idea. I should never have mentioned it.’
She felt her spine stiffen. ‘Why?’
‘You are talking about three gentlemen. My grandfather didn’t wake up one morning and say, there are the eggs and the cliff, have at it. We’d grown up collecting eggs. They were food for our table. Every boy in Dunross climbed those cliffs to feed his family. My grandfather simply added a bit of competition to it. A challenge. And the eggs we didn’t need for our table, we gave to those less well off.’
‘That is exactly what I want. A challenge.’
His mouth flattened. ‘It is too dangerous. I’ll have no part of such a fool’s errand.’
‘It won’t be a contest of how many eggs they can collect. They would have only to bring back one. It would be how they set about getting that one.’
‘One or a hundred, you could be sending one of those men to their deaths. I won’t have that on my conscience. Nor should you.’
‘It will not be on your conscience. It will be on mine.’
‘I beg to differ. It is a stupid idea and I will not permit it.’
A spurt of anger went through her. Because she had not thought of the danger and knew he was right. She did not want him to be right. ‘You would suggest a ball and dancing, I suppose.’ Because that was all a woman needed. A man who danced well.
A faint tinge of colour stained his cheeks as he no doubt recalled his words of the night before. Though why it would make him blush she did not know. Or was it anger? Because his voice was harsh as he spoke. ‘I also suggest you spend time talking to them. Get to know them that way.’
‘I have only a week, Mr Gilvry.’
His mouth tightened. Disapproval. It was the expression she’d been seeing on his face since the first day they met. Either he was disapproving of her, or he was kissing her. She went hot at the wayward thought.
‘Then the sooner you get started, Lady Jenna, the better,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Is something wrong?’ Mrs Preston quavered from the other side of the room.
Jenna spun around, surprised that their discussion had roused the widow’s suspicions. ‘Just planning the week’s entertainment.’ She turned to Mr Gilvry with a bright smile. ‘Mr Gilvry is adamant that we will not go riding today.’
‘Indeed I am.’
‘So billiards it is,’ she added in a louder voice. ‘I’ll let the gentlemen know. They are expecting us in the library. Thank you so much for your help, Mr Gilvry. You may attend to your other duties.’
His normally cool expression held an edge of anger. ‘With great pleasure, Lady Jenna.’ He bowed stiffly and left, passing Mr McBane who was on his way in.
The gentlemen greeted each other. The urbane McBane raised his brows when he met Lady Jenna’s gaze before greeting Mrs Preston. The man saw a great deal, Jenna decided. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as lazy as he seemed.
Perhaps Mr Gilvry was right. She should talk to the gentlemen individually to learn more about their characters, rather than sending them on a fool’s errand, as he had called it.
The idea that he thought her foolish was lowering. But he wasn’t the one who would be bound to a man who would have all the power. She’d thought about it carefully. She needed a man who would listen to her opinions and be guided by her when it came to the matter of Braemuir. Braemuir had been in her family for generations. She loved it. The house. The park. The people. It was hers. And she would not let anyone ruin it.
She didn’t want a weak man, exactly, but she did want one who was reasonable. One who would leave the running of Braemuir in her hands where it belonged.
‘Lady Jenna,’ Mr McBane murmured as he bowed over her hand. ‘May I say how beautiful you look this morning with high colour in your cheeks and a sparkle in your eye?’
Oh, yes, he saw a great deal. And his voice held sympathy. She dipped a curtsy. ‘You are very kind, sir.’
‘Not at all. I speak only the truth. Such a surly young man, Mr Gilvry. And high-handed as a guardian, too, I shouldn’t wonder.’
She smiled wryly. ‘We were having a small disagreement as to how best to provide for your entertainment,’ she said as lightly as she could manage. ‘As you can see, the weather is being uncooperative for any outdoor activity.’
‘I don’t think you will find us hard to please, Lady Jenna. Your presence is all that is required.’ His eyes twinkled sympathetically. ‘I do not envy you the task of choosing between us.’
He reminded her a bit of her father. Kindly and wise. ‘It must be a rather uncomfortable situation for you, too, sir.’
‘Somewhat,’ he admitted. ‘Come, sit down and tell me what Mr Gilvry has done to so displease you.’
Jenna felt his hand in the small of her back as he guided her to the sofa. She had the urge to pull away, but how could she? It would be rude when he was being so utterly charming. When she was settled, he sat down beside her, just as Niall—no, Mr Gilvry had done the other evening when they talked. It didn’t feel nearly as...nice.
‘It appears Mr Gilvry is somewhat strict in his notions,’ Mr McBane was saying.
Unaccountably, she stiffened at the implied criticism. Surely he wasn’t trying to drive a wedge between her and her guardian? ‘Mr Gilvry is punctilious in the performance of his duties.’
‘Which irks you, I think?’
It irked her that he was right. She let go a sigh. ‘It was a small difference of opinion.’
‘On the value of gulls’ eggs.’
‘You heard?’
‘A few words when I was about to enter. You sounded angry and I was about to leave, when I realised Gilvry was about to depart.’
She shook her head. ‘It was a nonsensical idea.’
‘Is that what he told you? I gather Mr Gilvry is not always the most tactful of young men. I am somewhat surprised...well, never mind that. What is this idea of yours? And is there perhaps something I can do to assist?’
Surprised by what? ‘Oh, no. Really. It is nothing.’
Something flickered across his face. Pain at her quick dismissal of his offer to help, perhaps? ‘Then I must apologise for prying.’
And now she felt unkind. Perhaps even cruel. So she explained how she had discussed her difficulties with Mr Gilvry the previous evening and how they had joked about the fairy tale and he had talked about the contest between him and his brothers.
‘And you thought the three of us should enter into such a contest.’
She coloured. ‘It was a jest. A whim. As Mr Gilvry pointed out in the cold light of day. Far too dangerous.’
‘You discussed this with him last evening. After dinner.’
She nodded and gazed down at her clasped hands. ‘I became anxious that I would not make the right choice.’
He patted her hands, a kindly, almost avuncular gesture. ‘You have a difficult task, my dear Lady Jenna. I do not envy you one bit.’
She lifted her gaze and found him smiling at her with a great deal of understanding. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Why would you want to marry me? You have been married before. You are wealthy. You could have your choice of ladies, I assume.’
His eyes widened. ‘A direct question deserves a direct answer. I cannot deny I have been thinking about a second marriage for some time now. I have three daughters in need of a mother. Your cousin suggested I throw my hat in the ring.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘I have to confess that, as a younger son, the idea of a title is almost as attractive as you are.’ He gave her a rather regretful smile, but she could not fault him for his honesty.
‘How old are your daughters?’
‘All under the age of ten. They live at my home near Stirling. They are charming children, I assure you, but lacking a woman’s guidance.’
That, she could understand. She had often felt the lack growing up in her father’s house. Yet the thought of being mother to three when newly married felt rather daunting.
‘Here you are, McBane,’ said Mr Murray glowering from the doorway with Mr Oswald at his shoulder. ‘Stealing a march on us while Oswald and I have been kicking our heels in the library.’
Heat rushed to her face at the accusation in his tone. As if he somehow thought they were doing something wrong. She rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for waiting, gentlemen. I was wondering if you would care for a game of billiards, given that the weather is so uncooperative today. The table has been set up in the great hall.’
‘Bravo,’ Mr McBane said
sotto voce
as he stood up beside her.
‘Will you join us, Lady Jenna?’ Mr Oswald asked, his face bland.
‘Indeed, I will,’ she said.
‘Capital idea,’ Mr Murray said, rubbing his hands together. ‘I like nothing better than a good game of billiards. Lady Jenna, you had best throw your lot in with me, if you want to win.’
Yes, spending time with these men was teaching her something about their characters. And they were all very different. She would have to approach this matter from a logical standpoint. Decide exactly what it was she needed in a husband. But at the moment, Mr McBane stood out.
There was a kindness about him, and wisdom. Nor did he seem like a man who would be foolish about money the way her father had been. He had let himself be persuaded into unwise investments, trusting where he should have looked into things more deeply, according to Carrick.
Would McBane be the sort to be more careful?
* * *
Niall had spent the day working beside McDougall in the office while Lady Jenna, chaperoned by Mrs Preston, played billiards with her suitors. Later, he heard from one of the servants, there had been great hilarity over shuttlecock and battledore played in the undercroft. By dinner time, Lady Jenna and her guests seemed very much at ease with one another and he was clearly the odd man out.
As the servants cleared away the last of the dinner dishes, he was racking his mind for an excuse to retire the moment the ladies left for the drawing room.
‘Now, Lady Jenna,’ Mr Oswald said, ‘I do recall you offering an evening of cards.’
‘So I did,’ Lady Jenna replied. ‘It is all arranged. The card tables should be ready and awaiting us in the drawing room the moment you gentlemen are ready.’
‘Excellent,’ Mr Oswald said. ‘I hope the rest of you are prepared to lose your fortunes.’
‘I doubt we shall play so deep as that,’ Lady Jenna said firmly. ‘You will join us, will you not, Mr Gilvry? We will need an even number and Mrs Preston does like to play.’
The older lady beamed. ‘How kind of you to remember, Jenna.’
Both ladies were awaiting his answer. Did he actually have a choice? ‘I shall be delighted.’
They repaired at once to the drawing room, the gentlemen apparently more than happy to give up their port for a chance to gamble.
Two card tables had been set up in the drawing room, and it was agreed that he would partner Mrs Preston against Mr Oswald and Mr McBane in a game of piquet, while Lady Jenna played a hand of whist with Mr Murray.
A chance for her to get to know the man better. Cards would reveal the man’s intelligence, or at least his ability to count.
Mrs Preston proved to be quite a good player, even though she played by instinct rather than calculation, and Niall easily made up for her occasional error with his skill in keeping track of the cards.
‘This is dullness itself,’ Mr Oswald said. ‘A shilling a point? Let us raise it to a guinea.’
No one objected. The widow’s eyes lit up as she eyed her winnings and calculated how much more they could be.
‘A guinea it is,’ McBane said casually and dealt the hand.
‘Are you in, Gilvry?’ Oswald asked.
Niall nodded. He would have to ensure luck continued to run their way. He certainly could not afford to lose the way these men could. He picked up his hand and glanced at his cards. Useless. He had to hope his partner had better than this or he would quickly find himself on Dun Street.
* * *
During the next hand, while Mrs Preston dithered over which card to lay, McBane leaned back in his chair. ‘I understand you led an exciting youth, Mr Gilvry.’
Niall frowned at him. ‘No more exciting than anyone else, I believe.’
‘I understood your family to be engaged in the trade. I assumed you were part of it?’
‘A free trader?’ Murray said from the next table, his expression speculative. ‘I wouldn’t mind a few tuns of brandy.’
Lady Jenna’s eyes widened in astonishment.
‘I have nothing to do with smuggling brandy,’ he said firmly.
‘I thought smuggling was why your family set such great store on the climbing of cliffs,’ McBane said blandly.
Niall felt his mouth dry as he heard Lady Jenna’s indrawn gasp. He didn’t look at her, but he knew she must have told McBane about their conversation. Their private conversation. He repressed a feeling of betrayal. There was no sense in denying it, despite the superior expression on McBane’s face. ‘We gathered eggs for food.’