The House of Lyall (23 page)

She had been annoyed that Nurse Murchie wouldn't let her breast-feed baby Ranald after the first week. ‘It's not dignified to be exposing yourself,' the woman had said. ‘None of my ladies ever fed the baby themselves. That's why they employ a nurse.'

It did stop her from being tied to the house all the time, Marianne thought, but having her breasts bound tightly to stop the milk hadn't been pleasant. And she'd have to go through it all again at some time in the not-too-distant future, she supposed. It surprised her that Hamish hadn't come back to her room yet – it was three months since the birth.

A bead of sweat running down her nose made her thoughts veer. It was going to be a hot day again, unbearably hot like yesterday. She had meant to do a few odd little jobs this forenoon and then take a walk through the woods after lunch, but it would be even hotter then. She got out of bed to push open the window a little further, and drew the welcome fresh air deep into her lungs. Oh, she'd have to go out; the perspiration was trickling down between her shoulder blades now, but she couldn't be bothered dressing, nobody would see her at this time of morning.

Creeping along the corridor and down the stairs, she heaved a sigh of relief on reaching the door to the garden without seeing a soul. Her heart was singing as she slipped outside and ran lightly towards the gate at the far end of the rose garden. She had forgotten to put shoes on, but what did that matter? When she was a schoolgirl, she had run barefoot every summer, like all the children in Tipperton. Her feet weren't so hardened to stony ground nowadays though, she reflected wryly, picking her way carefully along the gravel path, but once she was in the wood, the going was a little easier. The thick layer of pine needles wasn't exactly as comfortable as a carpet would have been, but when she came to a stretch of moss, her feet felt almost as if there were springs under them.

Her heart was so light that she skipped along for a while, humming an old song her class had been taught by the dominie's wife, and in another few minutes, her exuberance was such that she could contain herself no longer and burst into song.

Unable to remember what came next, or even if what she had already sung were the right words, she pirouetted and collapsed giggling on the grass verging the small loch she had reached. It was much hotter now, even in the shade of the tall pines and, without considering, she jumped up and waded in. The shock of the icy coldness made her draw a sharp breath, but it didn't take her long to get accustomed to it. It felt so good that she laved water all over herself, soaking her long tresses as well as her thin nightgown.

She cavorted about until she was sufficiently cooled and then got out, hauling her soggy garment off and spreading it over a branch. There was no sense in risking a chill, and it should dry quickly in this heat, and so would she. She sprawled down on the ground, arms and legs spread wide, and watched the birds flying overhead.

She felt wonderful, as though somebody had wrapped her in a warm blanket. She could lie here for ever … or anyway, till the sun went down. Her eyes followed a tiny wren for a moment, then a blue tit which landed not far from
her and hopped around in search of a grub. A honey bee caught her attention next, buzzing contentedly from one wild blossom to another. Marianne felt totally at peace, with nothing to remind her of duties she should be carrying out. Let them get on with things themselves – they would manage fine without her.

She lifted her breasts so that the skin underneath could have a turn of the warmth – they had returned to their normal size, thank goodness – and then sat up to let her back dry. Some minutes later, she got to her feet and ran her hands down her stomach, as firm as it had been before, then turned round to give the back of her legs a chance to dry. A movement to her right caught her eye. Believing it to be a rabbit or a weasel, she paid little attention until it dawned on her that whatever it was, it was far too big to be either a rabbit or a weasel.

‘Who's there?' she called apprehensively.

And rising from where he'd been crouching in the bushes, appeared the most magnificent specimen of a man she had seen in her entire life. His hair was jet-black and curled close to his head and round his ears; his body being bare to the waist, she quickly averted her eyes from the thatch of black curls across his chest. His shoulders were broad, his face lean and tanned to an almost mahogany colour. His eyes were fixed on her, his mouth slightly open … as was hers, she realized, snapping it shut and remembering, at the same time, that she was stark naked, which was likely why he was staring at her like that.

‘Will you please pass me my shift?' she asked haughtily.

He stepped right out now, placing himself between her and the nightdress she wanted. ‘I'd like to look at you a while longer,' he answered, his smile widening into a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ‘It's no' often I come across a beautiful damsel wearin' nothin' but her skin, an' by God, you make a right bonnie picture.'

He was so attractive she couldn't help but respond to the compliments he was paying her. ‘You make a fine picture yourself,' she smiled.

‘Maybe I'd best take off my breeches to make us equal,' he offered, hands going to his top button, but waiting for her to say something before undoing it.

Marianne's reaction to this unpardonable yet fascinating remark surprised her. Her heart had speeded up, deep thrills ran down to her most private place, but, as she took an involuntary step towards him, she came to her senses. ‘I'm a married woman,' she declared, with all the dignity she could muster when every fibre of her was aching to be in his arms.

He nodded nonchalantly. ‘I noticed your weddin' ring, but it makes no odds to me. Married or single, you're still a bonnie lass.'

‘You don't understand!' she burst out, pleading. ‘I'm wed on the laird's son.'

‘So? I'm pleased to see there's nae difference between a lady an' a workin' lassie when they've naething on, an' your figure's a lot better than mony o' the lassies I've lain wi', the married women an' all.' He undid his top button now, teasing as he said, ‘I'm sure you'd like to ken if a tinker's the same as a lord under his breeks?'

‘No, no!' she pleaded, somewhat half-heartedly because she
had
wondered about that, although she'd thought he was a gypsy. Then, in her confusion because his eyes were fastened on her bosom, she forgot about being refined and snapped, ‘I'm nae a peepshow, so I'll thank you to stop lookin' at me like that.'

Her slip of the tongue made him raise his eyebrows. ‘Aye, aye, m'Leddy, I some think you didna start oot as gentry. Was you a skivvy that took the laird's son's eye?'

She was outraged at this assumption. ‘No, I wasn't! I worked in a shop in Aberdeen before I met Hamish.'

‘But you dinna speak like a toon lassie. What did you dae afore you went to Aberdeen?'

Inquisitive though he was, she couldn't help liking him, and what did it matter if he knew the truth? She wouldn't see him again and he'd have no reason to tell anybody. ‘I was servant to a banker's wife … in Tipperton.'

He gave a triumphant grin. ‘So you
was
a skivvy! I ken't you was mair like me than like a laird's son! Now, bein' on the same level, so to speak, you've nae cause to look doon on me.'

‘I wasna lookin' doon on you, but a gentleman would've turned his back when he saw –'

‘But I never laid claim to bein' a gentleman, noo did I? An' you was getting' ready to gi'e me my marchin' orders though you dinna really want me to leave.'

She bridled. ‘Give me my shift!' she ordered, staring him straight in the eye and speaking as firmly as she could.

Continuing to smile, he passed the still damp item over, then said, ‘You could mebbe dae something for me … if it wouldna be ower much bother? M'name's Jamie MacPhee, an' me an' my brother's lookin' for work … well, it's just me that's lookin', for I'm sick o' sharpenin' knives and scythes. We've just got the one grindin' wheel, you see, an' Robbie's been leavin' me to dae near the lot.' He eyed her hopefully. ‘You could get me a job at the castle, couldn't you? It'll nae be for lang, for we'll be goin' to pick berries at Blairgowrie in the middle o' July, dependin' on the weather.'

Marianne knew that Dargie would easily find work for another pair of hands, but she also knew that she wouldn't feel easy if Jamie MacPhee were around the castle for any length of time. His eyes, however, were pleading like a young puppy-dog's, and she cast around in her mind for something to offer him. Thankfully, a solution did crop up. ‘I
just remembered. The minister's wife told me on Sunday they were looking for a man to keep their garden tidy. Duncan, that's her husband, well, he broke his leg and she's not able to keep the weeds down by herself.'

Jamie's eyes had lit up. ‘That's just the kind of thing I was lookin' for, an' I'd best go an' see aboot it afore somebody else gets it.'

‘Take that first path on the left there, right down to the road and you'll easy find the manse – it's next to the kirk. They've a fair skelp o' ground, mind.'

‘That'll nae bother me.' He touched his forelock in mock respect. ‘Thank you, your Leddyship, an' I'm sorry for the things I said afore, but I thocht you was just a servant lassie. If you'd been dressed, see, I'd never have said nothin'.'

Marianne smiled uncomfortably. ‘Yes, it was my own fault, but I'd be obliged if you'd forget it, and don't say anything to anybody.'

‘I'll nae say a word …' he paused, his attractive grin tugging at her heartstrings as he added, ‘… but I'll nae forget.'

‘Good luck!' she called as she watched him striding away from her.

She walked home slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. What on earth had possessed her to go into the loch? And worse, to take off her nightgown? Nobody, not even Hamish, had ever seen her naked, and God knows what she had looked like, showing herself off to whoever had chanced upon her. No wonder Jamie MacPhee hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. And what if it had been Lord Glendarril? Or Duncan Peat? No, he couldn't walk in the woods with a broken leg. But Hamish? He would likely have disowned her.

Another thing, she thought, turning hot at the memory of it, what had made her take to the tinker like that? Was it because he spoke with a north accent, like the one she was still trying to give up, or was it because he had said those nice things about her? Or was it because Hamish had not been in her bed since Ranald was born?

She was less than halfway to the garden gate when she saw Carnie practically running towards her, but there was nothing she could do to stop her damp shift clinging to her, for he'd seen her. ‘My God, Lady Marianne,' he puffed, avoiding looking at her now, ‘where've you been? They're going aboot mad back there. Thomson came running down the stair about ten past seven screaming, “Somebody's broke in and abducted the mistress!' and all hell broke loose.'

Marianne hung her head. ‘I woke up early and it was so stuffy, I went out for some fresh air.'

He took off his jacket and handed it to her. ‘You'd better cover yourself, or The Master'll …' He waited until she was as decent as possible, then took her arm and hurried her along the path. When they came to the garden gate, he said, ‘You were taking a big chance going out in your goonie, though. Somebody might've seen you.'

‘Nobody saw me.'

‘You'd come out by the garden door? I'd best get you back in that way, and all, afore his Lordship or the Master sees us and thinks I've been trifling wi' your affections.' Carnie gave a great rumble of laughter which she did her best to join, but the thought persisted in her mind that if she hadn't come to her senses when she did, Jamie MacPhee would have trifled with more than her affections.

When they reached the house, Thomson was highly indignant that she had gone out by herself. ‘Not even dressed. What were you thinking about, Mrs Hamish? The men are all out looking for you.'

A range of emotions coming to the surface now, Marianne burst into tears. ‘I needed a breath of fresh air, and … oh, go away and leave me alone. Surely I can do what I like? I'm not a prisoner here.'

Thomson sniffed and tossed her head as she marched out, but Marianne didn't care that she had offended her maid. All she wanted was some peace. She was tired and hot, and she wished that she could go away with Jamie MacPhee and his brother when they left. It wouldn't bother her that he had no money, and was never likely to …

But the lack of money
would
bother her! She had achieved her ambition when she married Hamish, and when he became the Lord, she would have, by right, the title of Lady, which most of the glen folk already bestowed on her. In any case, the period of mourning for Lady Glendarril was long over, though Marianne suspected she would likely be made to wait until she produced a second son, however long that would take, before the day she was waiting for – when she could take her place among the nobility.

Half an hour later, she was awakened from a doze by little Daisy, the chamber maid, calling through the door, ‘Thomson told me to get a bath ready for you, m'Leddy, so you'd better take it afore it gets cold.'

‘Thank you, Daisy,' Marianne called back. ‘And thank Thomson for thinking of it.' She didn't feel guilty any more about this, because no one had to carry the water upstairs since Hector had got men to fit the pump for filling the tank for the bath. They had also installed a gas ring under it, and with the work of laying the pipes for that, Hector had decided that they may as well have gaslights fitted in all rooms. One of her suggestions had led to a vast improvement in the standard of life in the castle.