The Lady and the Laird Read online

  "Mayhap you're right," William said thoughtfully but he remained unconvinced. There was something in the way the two of them faced off against each other, a hint of fire running just below the surface that might be a surprise to them both.

  "I'm going," Katlin said.

  ''You're staying," Angus replied.

  She made to move around him. He put out a hand to stop her. The sudden physical contact was a shock to them both. Despite the fire in the library, Katlin had been feeling chilled. Now, without warning, warmth spread through her. She flushed and instinctively tried to pull away.

  Just as instinctively, Angus tightened his hold. He did not hurt her, but neither did he give her any chance to free herself. He was, after all, a Wyndham, and the loss of Innishffarin notwithstanding, Wyndhams tended to hold on to what was theirs. Or what they had decided ought to be theirs.

  His hand closed around her narrow wrist. Eyes locked on hers, he drew her to him. "You said you would stop seeing me as an adversary," he reminded her.

  "I'm trying, but how do you expect me to manage it when you insist on being so... so infuriating?"

  Behind them, William made a choking sound. He laid a hand, very gently to be sure, on Mrs. Jarvis's arm and gestured her toward the door. She nodded in silent accord. They slipped away, the other servants swiftly doing likewise.

  "I am being sensible," Angus insisted. "You're the one who's maddeningly stubborn."

  Katlin's eyes flared. He was so very close that she could feel the warmth of his big, hard body. The sensation was dizzying. Fighting for composure, she said, "Angus Wyndham, when it comes to being stubborn, you could give lessons. I appreciate your help and I will try my best to abide by our agreement but you are not going to order me about. I am returning to Innishffarin if I have to walk."

  He smiled grimly. "The last time you tried walking any great distance, you didn't fare very well."

  She refused to be baited. "I am more sensibly shod this time."

  "In point of fact, you are not shod at all."

  "I will be as soon as I can get downstairs and— Stop! What are you doing?"

  "Carrying you," Angus said mildly. He lifted her with humiliating ease, held her high against his chest and turned toward the steps. Not, of course, the steps leading to the kitchen, but the broad marble staircase that curved upward out of sight.

  Mounting the steps, he said, "I liked your grandfather, for all that he was a Sinclair. More to the point, I respected him. I'm not going to stand by and let his granddaughter willfully endanger herself. That would hardly be neighborly."

  "Neither is this high-handedness of yours," Katlin insisted, a bit breathlessly, to be sure, for the effect of being carried by him was rather remarkable. She had never felt like this before, not in her wildest dreams and certainly never with Charles. Angus had literally swept her off her feet. This rough Scotsman from the wild hills hard by the sea was behaving like some long-ago knight in shining armor. She had done her share of daydreaming about those legendary beings but she had never expected to come face-to-face with one of them. Had their ladies found them as bullying as she found Angus?

  "You can't make me stay," she insisted as he reached the second floor landing and turned down a long, wide corridor set with doors at regular intervals.

  Angus's smile widened. "Can't I?"

  A shiver ran through Katlin. He couldn't, could he?

  He bent slightly to open a door, then carried her through the doorway. The room was on a corner of the manor's east wing with windows looking out toward the sea on one side and a spacious formal garden on the other. It was furnished with a canopied bed set on a low dais and hung with embroidered bed curtains. Several couches and chairs were placed near the fireside. A dressing table was topped by an elaborate three-sided mirror that looked very old. The room was meticulously clean but still had an air of disuse as though no one had occupied it in quite a while.

  "You will stay put," Angus said as he carried her to the bed and set her down. "One of the maids will see to your needs." His big hand cupped her chin, compelling her to meet his eyes. "Hear me true, Katlin. You need help for Innishffarin, and I am willing to give it. But I'm a busy man and I've no time to dance attendance on your whims. Hurt, sick or exhausted, you're no use to anyone. Certainly, you're no fit mistress for Innishffarin under those conditions. You'll be sensible, stay here and regain your strength. When the storm is over, which it will be soon, I'll take you back myself. Now have I your word that you'll do as I say?"

  Katlin's teeth worried her lower lip as she stared at him. He did have a point, much as she hated to admit it. She was exhausted and could very easily fall ill, which would only make everything worse.

  "All right," she said finally as though the words were wrenched from her. "I'll stay. But only until tomorrow. That's reasonable," she added quickly before he could interrupt. "I'll have a good rest and by morning I'll be fine. Besides, as you said, the storm will probably be over by then."

  "I didn't say that exactly. It could go on for several more days."

  She blanched at that. "Not really?"

  Angus laughed. He didn't know why, for the situation really wasn't amusing, but something about being with her—even when she was snarling at him— made him oddly happy. "Why do you think Scotland is so green? Did you imagine that came out of the air?"

  Katlin shook her head. "Not exactly. But so much rain. Is that normal?"

  "We've had a wee bit more than usual this spring," he said. "But never mind about that. I'll send the maid up." His eyes ran over her. "You'd like a nice hot bath, wouldn't you?"

  Had he offered her the crown jewels, Katlin would not have been as tempted. The very thought of such a luxury—one she had until recently taken completely for granted—all but overwhelmed her. "Yes," she admitted and had to hope her longing wasn't too obvious.

  It was, but Angus did not comment on it. He left her and went down the corridor. At the bottom of the steps, he found William and gave his instructions. If the steward was surprised to hear that Miss Katlin Sinclair would be staying overnight, he was wise enough not to show it.

  That done, Angus went out into the whipping rain. The wind was up, and mighty breakers could be seen smashing against the beach. Several of the servants were busy loading a wagon with supplies.

  Angus had a few words with the men before he mounted the big gray stallion. He would ride on ahead. As he came around the corner of the house, he thought he saw a curtain flutter at a second storey window but he couldn't be sure. Tucking his head into the wind, he urged the stallion on.

  Katlin let the edge of the curtain fall from her fingers. She turned slowly to the room. Her knees felt very wobbly. It was all she could do to make it to the bed, where she sank down gratefully. The image of Angus, so tall and powerful on the stallion, riding into the swirling rain to aid her people, was almost more than she could comprehend. It made her feel so protected, so cared for and yet also so threatened.

  She was Miss Katlin Sinclair, almost betrothed of Baron Charles David etcetera Devereux, loving grandniece of one of London society's true grande dames, a very proper young lady in every respect.

  But she was also Katlin Sinclair who could draw water from an ancient well, tend a fire, nurse the sick, fight off despair and tussle with a recalcitrant ghost. Not very proper at all.

  And she was Katlin Sinclair who remained here under Angus Wyndham's roof, weary, exhausted, confused and glad—there she had admitted it!—glad that there was a strong, capable man to whom she could turn for help.

  Three different selves, two of them strangers to her until very recently. Somehow she had to find a way to reconcile them all, but at the moment she was simply too tired even to attempt it.

  When the knock came lightly at the door, Katlin hardly heard it. She had gotten up long enough to fold back the luxurious bed cover, simple good manners forbidding her from damaging it, but the moment she lay down again she began to slip away into sleep. She was only distan
tly aware when the maids tiptoed in to set up her bath. Dimly, she heard them whispering and realized they were uncertain what to do.

  "Please," she murmured, rousing herself, "go ahead. I really do need to bathe."

  Thus encouraged, they fell to their task with a will and shortly had the steaming tub ready. Katlin was still almost asleep when the girls helped her off with her mud-splattered dress. She missed the looks they exchanged as it was quickly scooped out of sight.

  She woke up well enough when the water touched her, for it was the first hot water she had known in longer than she cared to admit. At Innishffarin it was enough to get the water drawn from the well—to heat it was too much.

  She sighed luxuriously and let her head fall back against the padded rim. The tub was much larger than she needed, and for a moment she imagined Angus using it. Not being entirely daft, she banished that thought as quickly as she could.

  The maids had thoughtfully scented the water with lavender. Sarah could not have taken better care of her. One of them washed her hair until it emerged once more honey blond rather than muddy brown. Tut-tutting to themselves, they helped her out, wrapped her in a huge bathing sheet and sat her down at the dressing table. Drooping with fatigue, she suffered her hair to be dried and buffed with a length of silk. Finally, a silk and lace night robe was dropped over her head and she was led to the bed.

  Katlin was asleep almost the instant her head touched the pillows. She did not hear the maids emptying the tub or going softly away, closing the door behind them. Somewhere in her dreams she did hear the rain, but it was no longer threatening. She was dry, warm and safe. Softly, she smiled and snuggled deeper under the covers.

  ***

  It was early evening before Angus returned to Wyndham. He came alone, having left the servants at Innishffarin. Conditions were already improved there, but he had seen for himself that Katlin had been right to be concerned. She had shown great sense and responsibility coming to him as she did.

  William was waiting for him in the hall when he entered. Angus handed his rain-sodden cloak to a footman and accepted the towel that was offered. Briskly, he dried his hair and wiped the water from his face.

  "Everything all right here?" he asked the steward.

  William nodded. "Your instructions have been followed to the letter, my lord."

  Of course they had, for they always were. The only person who Angus could remember defying him in a very long time was Katlin Sinclair.

  "How is our guest?" he asked as he walked with William to the library. A fresh fire had been laid and a snifter of brandy was already poured. He took an appreciative sip.

  "Miss Sinclair is sleeping, sir," William said. "Mrs. Jarvis asked if she should be awakened for supper but I thought it would be better not to. She seems most in need of rest."

  "She's had a hard time of it," Angus said, staring into the flames. His thoughts were back at Innishffarin, in the crumbling wreck of a castle. For the first time in his life, he did not dwell on it with fond yearning. Rather he felt a spurt of resentment when he considered what Katlin had been forced to endure.

  That drew him up short. It was plainly absurd that he should think anything of the kind. Her problems were of her own making. They resulted from her stubborn insistence on holding on to Innishffarin.

  And yet, he couldn't forget how pale and weary she had looked.

  William glanced at him curiously. He could not recall ever seeing his lordship quite so distracted.

  "Supper has been kept warm, sir," he said, "if you'd care for some?"

  Angus shook his head. "I'm not hungry." He gave the steward, who was also his old friend, an apologetic smile. "Don't mind me, William. I'm not quite myself these days."

  "As you say, sir."

  William saw himself out, leaving Angus alone in front of the fire. He poured another brandy and watched the amber liquid swirl in the cut crystal glass as he thought over the day.

  An hour passed, then another. The manor grew quiet. The servants went off to bed, the rain continued to fall and at length Angus rose. He set the snifter, now empty, aside and left the library. Slowly, he climbed the stairs. Katlin's room was at the end of the corridor. His own was in the opposite wing of the house. He had no business being where he was. But he was there all the same and there was no one to gainsay him. He was, after all, master in his own house.

  His hand turned on the silver knob. The door opened silently. It was very dark inside the room. Whatever moonlight there might have been was obscured by the rain clouds. But a single oil lamp had been left burning, the wick well trimmed.

  He stepped into the room, close enough that he could make out the slender shape in the bed. Katlin lay on her side, her head cradled on one hand. Her hair-shining clean now—was spread out over the pillows. He could see a bit of lace from her gown above the covers.

  He bent closer, watching the steady rise and fall of her breath. A soft flush of color clung to her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted.

  An overwhelming urge seized him to touch those lips with his own. Instantly, his manhood hardened. He moved back quickly, taken unawares by the intensity of his reaction. The sight of her so near to his hand was almost enough to undermine his better nature.

  More than a little shaken, he withdrew quickly and shut the door behind him. In his own quarters, he dismissed his valet, then stood for a time staring out at the rain. For the first time in days, it did seem to be lessening.

  Stripping off his clothes, he got into bed naked. With his arms folded behind his head, he stared at the ceiling until a restless sleep finally took him.

  Before dawn, he awoke suddenly and without apparent reason. It took him a moment to realize that the rain had stopped. He stepped from the bed and went over to one of the windows, pulling the curtain open. A thin gray light shone eastward over the sea.

  The need to be out and about seized him. He dressed hastily in a clean shirt and breeches pulled from the clothes press. Cold water in a bowl on the dressing table sufficed to banish the last of sleep from his eyes. Without bothering to shave, he went out into the almost day.

  As always after a heavy rain, the smell of the sea was very sharp. It wasn't that it was any more than usual, only that days of rain had obscured it and made it seem like no more than distant memory. Now it was back in force, that most ancient and evocative of perfumes, arousing thoughts of a thousand voyages to far-flung lands.

  But it was only his own land that interested Angus at the moment. Wyndham lay wrapped in stillness. Somewhere in the great house, one or two servants might be up, getting the fires going in the kitchens. But there was no sign of them. He walked alone out one of the back doors and through the gardens, following the path that led to the sea.

  So many times in boyhood he had followed the same path, and always with a sense of excitement. In manhood, too, he had come along the route when in need of solitude and reflection. The sea had a great way of putting things in perspective, he thought. Beside it, the problems of men tended to look like the puny things they really were.

  He was on the cliff within sight of the rocky beach when he saw her. She stood, wrapped in white, her hair like gold in the pale light. For a moment he thought she must be an apparition, but then she moved, only slightly but enough to convince him she was real.

  Katlin, there with him, in the stillness of not quite morning. Softly, so as not to alarm her, he called her name. She turned.

  "Angus." Her voice was hardly more than a breath of sound. She did not move but stood, waiting as he came nearer.

  He touched her cheek gently. "Are you cold?"

  She shook her head. At the moment, she felt so suddenly and vividly alive that cold had no meaning.

  "I woke early," she said with a smile.

  "So did I."

  "It's beautiful here."

  His eyes did not leave her face. "Very beautiful."

  Mist rose from the ground fragrant with emerald moss. It surrounded them with swirling tendril
s of cloud, half-hiding, half-revealing.

  Slowly, he drew her to him. The soft white blanket fell away. She stood in the lace and silk night robe, close within his arms, as the mist danced and far out over the water a new day was born.

  Angus bent his head. With exquisite care, his mouth claimed hers.

  Chapter Eight

  The intensity of the kiss stunned Katlin. Not that she minded. She was quite shockingly willing—nay, eager—to be stunned.

  Not for an instant did she resist; later she would wonder at that. Truly, there must be a streak of the wanton in her, yet one more hitherto unsuspected aspect of her nature.

  Slowly, with aching thoroughness, his tongue slid deep within her mouth. A moan rose inside her. She clung to him, lest she fall, as tremors raced convulsively through her. Such sensation! Such exquisite pleasure! How was it to be borne?

  The heat of his body enveloped her through the thin night robe. He did not rush, nor did he force her in any way. That in itself was devastating, for he made her a partner in her own seduction; he left her impatient for the next long, slow thrust, the tightening of his arms so that finally she could endure it no longer.

  Without thought, she met the wildness of his caress with her own.

  Angus gasped. He had needed all his self-control to keep from laying her on the soft moss and tearing away the slim barrier of cloth separating them. Now his restraint was tested to its farthest boundaries and beyond. At the first touch of her tongue against his, tentative though it was, passion coursed through him. His rigid arousal drove all reason from his mind.

  He forgot that she must be—had to be—a virgin. That she was a Sinclair. That she held Innishffarin. None of that mattered, only that she was in his arms, warm, passionate, enthrallingly responsive.

  His hands stroked her back to find and cup her slim buttocks. Gently, he squeezed them with the same rhythm that his tongue played within her. Still she did not shy from him or make any attempt to resist. Had she done so, he would have somehow found the strength to let her go, on that he was resolved. But she matched him perfectly, passion for passion, power for power.