Mad for the Plaid (40 page)

“Like hell. I may not wish to bring her here to this bloody rats' nest of intrigue, but I'll not have her throwing her life away on an antiquity!”

Tata stiffened. “Seventy-five is not so old.”

“I'm going to Ailsa. I'm going to tell her not to marry whoever it is. She deserves love. Happiness.” He'd convinced himself that with him gone, she would find another love; her life would be gentle and blessed. But this . . . “Is her father making her do this? Is that what's happened?”

Tata smoothed the letter on her knee. “It is sad, the things fathers do to their children. They mean the best, but . . .” She shook her head.

“When is this wedding to take place?”

“I would imagine it will be soon.”

“I will have a ship readied. We will leave this evening with the tide.”

She stood. “I'm to go with you?”

“Of course. Ailsa is . . .” He took a steadying breath. “She may not listen to me, but she may listen to you. We must convince her to refuse her father, no matter the pressure he puts upon her.”

“Very good. There's a ship waiting at the docks, so you do not need to order one readied.” Tata held up her letter. “The courier was waiting for this. I daresay there may be cabins to be had—”

Nik took her elbow. “How long will it take you to pack?”

“I can be ready in half an hour.”

“Then do it. We must go swiftly.”

Chapter 26

Urged on by Nik's insistent orders, the lumbering coach made its way to the port. Throwing back the curtains, Nik could see the ship moored to the biggest dock, ready for travel.
Good. We must make haste.

Across from him, Tata Natasha was bundled in a heavy wool cape, her wrinkled face framed by a thick fur-lined hood. “So. We are on a rescue mission, eh?”

“I cannot allow Ailsa to throw herself away on a marriage of convenience. She deserves better.” God, she haunted him. The shape of her face. Her delightfully bold nose. Her silken laugh. Her cloud of dark blond hair. Sometimes, if he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could still smell the faint lavender of her scent.

“You pine for that woman. I see it in your eyes.”

“I think about her. That's all.”
When I'm awake. And asleep. And in between.

The coach slowed as they rolled onto the cobblestones of the main thoroughfare by the dock. The scent of the ocean rose over the clatter of wagons and the shouts of drunken sailors.

Over the clamor, Tata said, “She's not so pretty, this one. She's not the type of female you usually pursue.”

“It has been many months since I have thought her one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.”

“Then I am glad.”

“Of what?”

“That we will—” The coach made a sharp turn and she grabbed the edge of the seat and peered out the window. “We arrive. Here. Help me down from this blasted carriage.”

Nik swung open the door without waiting for the footman, frowning as he did so. “We are not at the docks.”

“We are at an inn. I instructed the coachman to stop here. Before we go on the ship, I would take a moment to refresh myself.”

“We should go straight to the ship. The tide—”

“—is not due for another half hour, perhaps longer. Besides, when I said ‘refresh myself,' I meant something more delicate in nature.”

Good lord, this woman was difficult. He tamped down the desire to point out that she could deal with her ‘delicate' issues as soon as they reached the ship, but the stubborn set of her mouth told him it would be quicker to allow her to have her way.

He reluctantly pulled out the steps, waving off the footman as he did so. “Do not take long.”

Tata Natasha allowed him to assist her down the steps. “A few minutes, no more. I promise.”

“I will wait here.”

“Come with me,” she said over her shoulder, already
walking into the inn, her cane clicking on the stone walkway. “You will want vodka while you wait,
nyet
?”

He stifled a sigh, every fiber of his being focused on the ship he could see so tantalizingly close. But he might as well have a glass of vodka, as he was sure her idea of “hurrying” would not match his.

He followed her into the inn, a delicious aroma causing his stomach to growl.

She sniffed. “Roasted goose,” she said with approval as she headed down the long hallway. “Wait in the front parlor. I will not be long.”

With that, she disappeared into a side door.

He stifled a sigh and stepped into the parlor—only to stop dead in his tracks.

Ailsa stood at the far end of the room, her eyes wide in surprise. She was dressed in a plum-colored traveling gown, a thick shawl draped over her shoulders, her hands clasped in front of her. Her hair had been twisted on the top of her head, two fat curls resting on one shoulder.

The raging desire to cross the room and scoop her into his arms, to bury his face in her neck and feel her against him, made his knees almost weak.

He forced himself to remain where he was, near the door. “It seems I have been tricked.”

Flushed, she said in a tight voice, “We both were. Your grandmother was to meet me here, nae you.”

“She is meddling as ever.” He took another step into the room, leaving the door open. “She said there was vodka and a roasted goose.” He looked her up and down. “You do not look like a goose.”

“Nae, but now that I see what she's done, it explains that.” Ailsa pointed to the table by the window set for two. The table was laden with a roasted goose, a tureen of turtle soup, curried rabbit, a dish of basket-weave pastry, prawns in butter sauce, stewed mushrooms, and more. It was a feast.

“Her Grace ordered quite a repast.” Ailsa gave a short laugh. “I thought perhaps she wished to welcome me, but now . . . I greatly underestimated your grandmother.”

“We both did. But do not worry, I'm not staying.” He shouldn't. And yet his feet remained planted as if glued to the floor. “What will you do now?”

“Me? I suppose, for the moment, I will eat my supper. I just arrived in this frigid land of yours, and I'm famished. But you . . . you must leave, of course.” She walked to the table, her silk skirts rustling as she took a seat and moved the napkin from the table to her lap.

Nik shifted from one foot to the other. The door behind him was open. It would take only two or three steps and he'd be through the door.

She was here and so achingly close. His gaze devoured her and he noted the almost imperceptible changes since the last time he'd seen her. She, too, was thinner, her jaw more pronounced. She held her shoulders stiffly, as if she were ready to spring into action at a second's notice. What should he say? What could he say?

She carved a slice of goose, and put it on her plate. “Before you go, would you mind passing the bread? I cannae reach it from here.”

His gaze flickered to the bread that sat at the farthest edge of the table.

He crossed to the table, picked up the bread basket, and handed it to her.

Her hand closed on the other side of the basket, both clinging to their side as if it bridged a huge chasm, and if one or the other of them let go, they would fall.

Ailsa wished she could think of something brilliant and witty to say. Something that would move them past this frozen awkwardness. But her mind was unable to do anything but drink in the sight of him.

Did he have to come in looking so blasted dashing and . . . and . . .
perfect
? His black hair was longer than before, falling to his shoulders, his face leaner, which only served to make him look even more handsome, a feat she hadn't thought possible. Worse, he was dressed in an elegant double-caped coat, his hat perched at a rakish angle on his head, his boots reflecting the firelight.

She wished she could think of something to say but all she could do was fight the tears that threatened to leak.

His gaze moved from her eyes, to her nose, to her lips, and then followed her arm to the basket.

He released it and stepped back. “I suppose I should eat. I daresay I'm paying for it, anyway.”

She stared at him blankly as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it and his hat onto the low settee, before he joined her at the table.

Bloody hell
,
we're together.
The room suddenly seemed too small, and all she could do was remember how he'd
touched her, tasted her. Her heart beat in her throat and she glanced at the fire, wondering if it had suddenly blazed up.

He filled his plate, watching her, his expression too complicated for her to decipher.

She blindly spooned some items onto her own plate, wishing she possessed some of cousin Gregor's social acumen.

Nik took a drink from his water goblet. “So. How did my grandmother get you here?”

“She invited me. I'm to be one of her ladies-in-waiting.”

He looked at her blankly. “She doesn't have ladies-in-waiting.”

“But . . . she made it seem as if . . .” Ailsa bit her lip, and then managed a falsely cheerful, “I'll be the only one, then. She said I would be of great help to her.”

“I take it you would stay in my castle.”

“I'm to stay wherever she is.”

“Which would be in my castle. Which would mean you would eat at one of my tables. And ride one of my horses. And walk in one of my halls.”

And sleep in one of your beds.
She barely managed to squeak the words, “I see.” She did see.
That scheming woman.
“I was told I would have a lovely study in case I wished to read or knit—”

“Do you knit?”

“Nae. I'm nae certain why your grandmother mentioned it, but . . .” She shrugged.

“So I thought. And I'm certain the study she referenced is my own.” He lifted a piece of bread from the basket. “You will return to Scotland, of course.”

She put down her fork. She'd been thinking the same thing, but when he said it, she was suddenly certain that was not what she would do. “Nae.”

“Ailsa . . . you know this cannot happen. I cannot have you invading my peace of mind any more than you already do.”

She'd been ready with a hot retort, but now her breath caught at his words. “I've been invading your peace of mind?”

His mouth pressed into a straight line. “You'll return to Castle Leod and stay there, with Lady Edana and your cousin.”

“I cannae. Castle Leod has a new estate manager and he requested I leave, and quite rightly, too. The servants are loyal to me, and they will nae accept him if I'm there.” She smiled. “You may know the new estate manager, for I hired him. It is Gregor.”

“So . . . you've left Castle Leod for good?”

“I could nae stay. I told Papa it was because I was bored, but the reality is that there are too many memories there. Every time I ride into the woods, I remember . . .” Tears dampened her eyes, and she blinked them away. “Gregor is happy now; he finally has a purpose.”

“You should go to your sisters. They're—”

“—all married, and have children. I have nae wish to join a household that will relegate me to ‘slightly above the governess.' You know how these things happen.”

He didn't argue, but said, “Go to your father, then. You could be of benefit to him.”

“I could. But Lady Edana has convinced him I should have a London season, and I cannae abide the thought.”

Nik's face darkened instantly, and a spark of hope warmed her. Had this separation been as hard on him as it had been on her? She couldn't imagine it had, for he was a man of action. If he'd wished to be with her, he would have been.

Or would he let his stubborn principles keep them apart?

As if in answer, he snapped out, “Go to your father, and have your season. It will be the best thing for you.”

She toyed with her knife, turning it over beside her plate. “Nae, thank you. I'm already here. And the more I think about your grandmother's offer to be her lady-in-waiting, the more enjoyable it sounds.”