A Highlander's Gifted Love (Blood 0f Duncliffe Series Book 9) Read online

  You don’t look like a lass of eight and twenty.

  She grinned at his statement, and laughed as she recalled the way his eyes kindled.

  Domnall of Dunning, she sighed. You have immense cheek.

  She imagined saying it to him, imagined his laugh.

  Yes, she sighed, she knew that he oughtn’t to have such an effect on her. She couldn’t even have said what the effect was. It was certainly nothing like the effect Lucas, the son of her father’s friend, had on her. Nor any man she’d met.

  They’re mostly awkward, boring or scary.

  But Domnall was none of those things.

  Domnall was…interesting. Funny. Exciting.

  * * *

  Her father was already well-positioned to dislike as well.

  She sighed and shifted, closing her eyes. She wasn’t going to worry about it now. She wasn’t going to even think that much about it. She was going to sleep. Perhaps tomorrow she would know the answers.

  The next morning dawned overcast and raining. Chlodie drew back the curtains herself and stared out. Though she should have felt subdued, seeing it – after all, it meant the springtime rains were settling in – she felt alive, energized.

  He’s still in the house.

  She patted her hair down as she whirled past the mirror, seeing that the time was nine of the clock already – the small elaborate clock on the mantel – a present from her father, years ago – had just chimed.

  “Mattie?” she called, pulling the bell rope at the same time, in case her maid was further afield. “Mattie?”

  While she waited for Mattie to reply to the summons, she began with her own hair, combing it out critically before the mirror. She wanted to look her best, she realized, flushing.

  “This is silly. He’s a wounded soldier.”

  All the same, when Mattie appeared, she spoke at once.

  “Mattie? The blue dress, please – the day dress Papa had made last year.”

  “The one with the taffeta? Yes, milady.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chlodie waited for her to get it out of storage in her wardrobe room next door, tapping her foot with impatience. She would wear the blue dress, with her hair down and curled, and pearls.

  Maybe pearls are too much..?

  When she was finally ready and dressed, abandoning the pearls – too much for daytime wear – she half-fled up the hallway to the breakfast room.

  “Hello?” she called at the door.

  Silence met her.

  She felt foolish, waiting – what if he wasn’t even there? A brief squint round the door showed a table unoccupied, three places laid out. She felt her heart sink and instantly felt defensive. She shook her head at herself.

  “I’m being stupid,” she said loudly, as she crossed the threshold. “I…Oh!”

  As she did so, she discovered the person she’d been hoping to see was at the window, looking out contemplatively. He was wearing his new kilt and shirt, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. He spun round, fast.

  “Milady!”

  His handsome face changed. From a pensive stare, it lit up within. She felt the touch of that approving gaze deep inside her. She also felt confused, though – and more than a little embarrassed.

  “Lieutenant Dunning,” she said severely. “I hadn’t expected to find you here. You do have way of arriving unexpectedly.”

  “Sorry, milady,” he said. He shifted uncomfortably, which surprised her. He seemed so self-assured, so controlled. “I just wasn’t sure if I was supposed to sit down and take breakfast…in my house we hadn’t so much ceremony. We ate with the household.”

  “I see,” Chlodie said. Inside, she felt a twinge of pleasure, that he had sought her opinion and she was, for once capable of giving advice. “Well, then. I should have explained yesterday. You can come in for breakfast any time – Cook always lays something out on the table after seven of the clock.”

  “I see,” he said, drawing back a chair. He stood there, hands on the back, uncertain. He had big hands, Chlodie noticed with surprise, thickly muscled.

  He’s a soldier. He needs to have strong hands – for holding a dagger, or riding.

  “Um…” He looked uncomfortable again. She frowned.

  “What?”

  “Um…” He shifted uncomfortably again, and she noticed he was still holding the chair, clearly uncertain about it. Suddenly, she understood.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking a seat in it. He beamed and nodded.

  “A pleasure, milady.”

  Chlodie felt her cheeks warm with a flush. Somehow, seeing him so desperately awkward, but also eager to please, was a unique experience.

  It somewhat makes up for the rough treatment.

  She still hadn’t forgotten the way he’d grabbed her yesterday.

  He took a seat opposite her.

  “Milady, I…”

  “You seem to be…”

  They both spoke together. He laughed, shaking his head.

  “Sorry, milady. I think the bash on the head took all my manners. Pardon me?”

  She grinned. “Bash on the head?” Her former question was forgotten now, this was much more interesting.

  “Fellow as stabbed me,” he explained, shaking his head. “He seemed to give up – or he lost his dagger – and tried to finish me off with a sound whack on my head. My father allus used to say it was no good hitting a fellow in his brains. If he’s got little enough of them as it is, it won’t do him injury.”

  She laughed.

  “Your father sounds like a unique fellow,” she said, reaching for a slice of bread. It was still warm, and fragrant. She buttered it, hoping he wouldn’t hear her stomach growling.

  “My father was a madman,” he said, grinning. “Seems like I take after him, too.”

  She had to laugh. “A madman! Why do you say so?”

  “Well, he was a reckless fool – known for sending raiders across the borders into neighborly lands, allus picking fights where there was no need. It amused him.”

  “I see,” she said, buttering her bread. She kept her gaze level, though she wanted to laugh. “And you are following in his footsteps?”

  “Well, I didn’t do too well yesterday, did I, milady? I’m lucky you didn’t have me arrested.”

  She bit her lip, not wanting to smile. “Yes,” she said with severity. “I suppose so.”

  “Instead, you took care of me,” he said with a gentle expression. “I owe you deepest thanks.”

  “You owe me nothing.” She found her mouth was dry. She felt her gaze lock with his, unable to look away.

  His eyes, brown and tender, rested on hers. She felt them move, fractionally, down to her lip, wet with a streak of butter. She licked it, feeling uncomfortable.

  Opposite her, she saw him shift in his seat, breathing seeming suddenly difficult. She flushed, feeling the sensation affect her too. Suddenly, it felt as if her stays were too tight, and it was hot, and hard to breathe. She stood up, going to the window.

  “It’s getting warm…”

  “Let me help you.”

  He got to his feet and, as she reached for the window catch, his fingers, so brief and tender, touched hers. She felt her pulse flutter. Her hand moved away. She longed to keep it there – to let his touch rest on her fingertips.

  They looked at each other.

  “Lady Chlodie, do forgive my manners.”

  “There isn’t anything to forgive.”

  Again, their eyes met. She felt the strange heat that had flowed through her body fill her again, heating her cheeks and making her breathing tighten.

  His fingers moved and she let her hand move too, so that they were entwined together. His fingers were warm and strong and, though it was a gesture of breathtaking boldness, strangely it felt more right than almost any contact she had experienced.

  “Chlodie…”

  She heard the rawness in his voice and twisted away, sharply.

  “Sir, you are presumptuo
us.”

  He straightened up, reddening.

  “Milady! Sorry! I…I have no manners left.”

  “I see that,” she said, trying for sternness. Inside her breath was racing.

  “Please,” he said, sounding desperate. “Forgive me?”

  She sighed. “I should not take liberties, nor let you do the same,” she said. “I was remiss, yesterday, in tending you myself. I made the wrong impression…”

  Her heart ached, knowing it was true. She should know better! Her father would be shocked. If this bold gentleman felt he could take liberties, she had certainly taken liberties yesterday herself!

  “You made an impression of yourself as a caring person,” he said, calling out to her back, where she stood, hesitating, in the doorway.

  “I should go.”

  She turned then, and walked briskly out of the door, heading downstairs, hastily, towards the front door. She needed to be outside. Alone.

  ASKING SOME QUESTIONS

  “Grand,” Domnall sighed to himself. “Of all the clever things to do. You just scared the lass.”

  He stumbled back to his seat, feeling dazed. What had he been thinking of?

  “I let myself get carried away.”

  He sighed. He knew he couldn’t help it, and that he wouldn’t have done anything any differently, no matter what he was asked to do. He was enchanted.

  She’s so beautiful. With that soft, gentle face and that curly hair and those big round green eyes that stare into mine with all the tenderness in the world…

  He felt his body respond, loins aching, as he thought about her. He recalled how it had felt when he’d grabbed her from behind, the previous day. It had felt exciting, and good. Not the fact that he’d scared her – the instant he’d realized it, he’d regretted it – but the feel of her soft, rounded body against his was heavenly.

  She is so beautiful it makes me want to weep.

  It wasn’t just her appearance – though it was itself striking – it was the gentleness of her, combined with that strange detachment.

  “When she tended my wounds…she was worse than a surgeon!”

  He chuckled. Unsympathetic and business-like, that was what she had been. He would never have expected such an attitude from her.

  “And she trusted you.”

  He sighed. Worse than misbehaving himself, he had made her mistrust him. That, in his mind, was even more unforgivable.

  He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. He had slept well for the first time in weeks last night. His chest pained him less than it had. All this, he owed her. Then he had gone and repaid her kindness with oafish behavior. He sighed.

  “I’ll need tae do something to set it aright.”

  He finished the breakfast – three slices of bread and fresh butter, thick slices of cheese and apples – and thought about the problem as he did.

  “I don’t know what to do with women.”

  He sighed again, dabbing his lips with the linen napkin.

  That was the problem.

  His experience of women was limited to Lady Seonaid and the other women his father deemed suitable acquaintances. His family consisted of himself, his father, uncles and cousin – all of whom were male. He had never had to apologize to a lass before.

  “Well, you need to do something, Domnall,” he sighed.

  His plan was to find Bethann. Perhaps he knew something about women, and what he might be able to do to show contrition. He pushed back the chair.

  “Ah! Sir! Good morning. You’re up early! Can I get ye some porridge?”

  Domnall sat back down again as a maidservant with long black hair and a big smile appeared. He vaguely recalled seeing her the previous evening.

  “Um, no. Thanks,” he said. “I’ve already breakfasted.”

  “Well, then. I’ll just put away the things, then..?”

  “No!” he said, loudly. He went red. The maid looked at him oddly, and he couldn’t blame her.

  “No, sir?” she asked, concernedly.

  “I mean, Lady Chlodie hasn’t finished,” he stammered.

  “Oh.” The maid let the knife she’d just moved drop back to the table. “Well, then. In that case, I’ll leave it. Sir? Is aught the matter?”

  “No…” he started. Then he shook his head. “Lady Chlodie,” he said quickly. “I upset her.”

  “Oh.” Mattie grinned. “Well, sir, that’s not hard. Begging your pardon, sir,” she added, blushing and looking away, realizing she’d spoken out of turn. As a servant, the disloyalty to Chlodie was breathtaking in itself. However, that was not what made him angry.

  “What do you mean?” he said, instantly defensive. What she’d said sounded as if she was being insulting about Chlodie. He wasn’t going to sit there and let anyone insult her!

  “Well, I just meant that the mistress has funny ways,” the maid said, by way of explanation.

  “Funny ways.” He sounded dangerous, and he knew it.

  “I mean…everyone knows there’s been something a bit odd about her, since she was a bairn.”

  “Odd!” He exploded. “There’s nothing wrong with Lady Chlodie! She’s the sweetest…”

  He reddened as the maid laughed.

  “What?” he mumbled.

  He knew he’d made his feelings plain, now – he might as well have written them on paper.

  “Well, nothing, sir,” she said. “None of my business, sir.” She smiled, seemingly relieved.

  “Probably not,” he mumbled again, feeling awful. Now he’d made two women angry with him, and made a fool of himself twice. He really should let the doctor see to his wounding and then just leave, as fast as possible.

  The maid finished clearing the table and went out, back stiff, posture defensive.

  Domnall sighed and stood.

  The maid’s words went around his head, disturbing him. What had she meant, funny ways? What was it about Lady Chlodie that had seemed “wrong” from when she was a child?

  She seems a remarkable woman. Sweet, kind, compassionate. The only things about her that mark her as unusual are good ones.

  He sighed. Going to the door, he took a slow breath and headed down the stairs.

  As he went, he wondered, idly, where he was and where Bethann had spent the night. He guessed he was near the kitchens, and found himself walking slowly downstairs, heading that way. He would find Bethann, and then leave.

  The stairs were unadorned here, he noticed, leading from the hallway to another hallway that was drafty and cold, the walls sparsely plastered, the scent of damp mortar pervasive here. He must be in the servant’s corridor. He had his suspicions confirmed when, a moment or two later, he heard the sound of pots being scrubbed, and a woman’s voice.

  “Master eats no more than a sparrow,” the woman said.

  “Hush,” another voice said, censorious.

  Another crash, as a pot fell on the floor.

  He bit back a grin as someone exclaimed, loudly, saying a few words he’d not even heard before he joined the army. Kitchens were the same everywhere, he reckoned. He thought he recognized the voice. Bethann.

  He opened the door.

  “A pox on the filthy thing!” Bethann was saying, from somewhere behind a table. He heard a grunt and a clatter of smashed china.

  “Bethann?”

  “Hey! Lieutenant! Greetings!”

  Bethann erupted from behind the table, a big grin on his broad face. Beside them, a woman looked on, laughing.

  “Lads! You’re a chaos; pair o’ ye!”

  “Greetings,” Domnall said, bowing to the woman, who reminded him of their housekeeper back at home. She flushed and flapped her apron at him, grinning.

  “Fine words oil no greens in this kitchen, milord,” she said. “Now get your friend out of here, afore ye all break the plates.”

  Domnall grinned. “He’s been causing trouble?”

  “Me, sir?” Bethann chuckled. “I’m a veritable angel.”

  “I know,” Domnal
l laughed. “That’s what you said when you set the hay wain alight.”

  “Sir!” Bethann grinned. “You knew I did that?”

  “I keep my brains in my head, Bethann,” Domnall grinned back. “So, I knew. I don’t know if you keep yours in your bollocks?”

  At that moment, as everyone laughed back, the door opened. Lady Chlodie stared at him.

  “Sir!” she said.

  Domnall went white.

  “Milady! I…”

  He looked at Bethann, who just looked at his feet, turning away to the back of the kitchen, busying himself with his pack.

  Mrs. Brune, the cook, was looking at her hands. He could see she was doing her best not to say anything. He knew she wanted to laugh.

  Chlodie, her hair tied back in a scarf, looked at him. Then she turned to the cook, evidently deciding that her best route was ignoring him.

  “Mrs. Brune, I came down to discuss the dinner menu. I think it best if we start with a soup of leeks…”

  “Leeks. Aye.” Mrs. Brune made her face stiff and reached for a piece of paper.

  Domnall looked at the ground. Amusement warred with shame. He had shown himself to be a boor at dinner yesterday, and this morning. Now, he’d been roaring about bollocks the instant she chose to walk in. He couldn’t win!

  “And to finish, I thought perhaps another raisin pudding.”

  Her eyes met his and he felt himself grin, broadly. He had truly relished the pudding! He felt, somehow, that she had requested it for his benefit. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Thanks.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but he noticed her cheeks flush. He felt his own body respond to it. He looked at her covertly, the way her breasts strained at the high neck of her dress, her heart fluttering. He wanted her.

  “So,” she said, studiously avoiding his presence. “I am right in thinking we’re agreed for dinner?”

  “Yes, milady,” Mrs. Brune said humbly. “And tomorrow morning? The usual?”

  “Yes, please, Mrs. Brune. If you have enough supplies of cheese?”

  “Och, yes, milady. We had the new ones brought in from the farm last month. Plenty of cheeses here. Never you fear.”

  Domnall saw Lady Chlodie nod, and then he watched, fascinated, as she flipped the little book she carried shut, matter-of-fact, and tucked it away in a concealed pocket.