The Lord’s Highland Temptation

With her was a youth, a brother by the family looks they shared. He, also, was younger than Miss Wallace. He reminded Lucas of the young ensigns sent to war when barely breeched.

‘How are you, sir?’ the boy asked. ‘Mairi said your fever broke during the night. What did Mr Grassie say?’

Her name was Mairi.

Mairi Wallace ignored her brother’s question and shooed them back to the doorway. ‘You two must leave at once. Wait for me. I will be right out.’ She closed the door and turned back to Lucas. ‘My brother and sister. Your rescuers.’

‘I hope I might thank them,’ he said, although he wasn’t yet sure whether he was glad he had not perished.

He tried to stand, this time bracing himself against the side of the bed. ‘Miss Wallace, no matter what the doctor said, if you prefer I leave—’

Her expression softened again. ‘No. No. We will not turn you out. You must forgive me if that is what you thought.’

He looked around the room, which seemed plainly furnished and devoid of decoration. ‘Whose room am I in? I gather this is not a guest room.’

She nodded, but her expression seemed...uneasy. ‘This is our butler’s room. He...he left our employ recently, so this room was not occupied. The silver is kept in another room, not here. And, for now, the housekeeper holds the keys.’

Why mention the silver? Did she think he might pinch it?

He looked down at himself. ‘Are these the butler’s clothes I am wearing?’

‘They were in the chest? We did not realise he’d left anything behind.’

Had the man left in haste? Lucas wondered. ‘And my clothing? My satchel?’

‘They were washed and brushed,’ she replied. ‘Possibly they are dry now. I will check. I charged Niven with keeping your purse.’

‘Niven?’

‘My brother.’

The intruding youth, no doubt.

She turned to leave.

He stopped her. ‘Miss Wallace, wait.’

She turned back.

‘You should know who I am.’ It was on the tip of his tongue to introduce himself as Lucas Johns-Ives, son of the Earl of Foxgrove, but was he not now Viscount Bradleigh—his father’s heir—his brother’s title? He could not bear to be that person, could not bear taking his brother’s name and rightful place. Disappointing his father. He wanted none of it.

‘I am... Lucas. John Lucas.’

That was who he would be, plain John Lucas.

She nodded and smiled, albeit sadly. ‘I will bring you something to eat, Mr Lucas. You must be hungry.’

He smiled back and fancied his smile a reflection of hers. ‘I am ravenous, Miss Wallace.’

* * *

Mairi’s heart raced as she stepped into the hallway. In daylight, without the pallor of illness, he was quite the handsomest man she’d ever seen, even with three days’ worth of beard. Even more disturbing was the connection she felt with him, as if nursing him through his fever had somehow linked him to her in a way she did not understand. She shivered, trying to shake the feeling away.

Davina and Niven accosted her.

‘Is he recovered?’ Davina asked. ‘What did Mr Grassie say?’

Niven chimed in. ‘What was wrong with him?’

What was wrong was that he was a stranger—an Englishman—who would now be a guest in their house for at least ten days.

She pushed past them. ‘I need to speak with Cook. He needs food and water.’

They followed her to the kitchen.

‘At least answer us!’ Davina cried.

Mairi held up a finger to warn them to give her a moment.

Cook was busy stirring something in a pot over the fire.

‘Mrs MacNeal, our patient is hungry. What might I bring him?’

Mrs MacNeal’s wrinkles creased into a sympathetic look. ‘Oh, the poor lad. I take it he is feeling better?’ Cook had kept her supplied with broth and tea for him the last three days.

‘He is much better,’ she replied. ‘His fever has broken.’

Cook winced as she tottered over to a shelf where the servants’ dishes were stacked. The poor woman’s arthritis must be paining her. She ought to be given a nice pension and a little cottage on the estate, not running the kitchen with only one kitchen maid to help.

‘Let me help you,’ Mairi said, hurrying to her side.

‘Thank you, Miss Mairi.’ The old woman pointed to a high shelf. ‘One of those bowls and a plate will do. The soup is ready. I’m keeping it warm for dinner. And there is fresh bread.’

‘I’ll cut some bread,’ Davina offered. She skipped over to the bread box and took out a loaf.

‘He’ll want some ale, I expect,’ Niven added. ‘Shall I get him some?’

Mairi nodded.

‘I’ll slice some cheese for him, as well,’ Davina said. She carried some cheese to the worktable.

Cook, Davina and Niven arranged a very generous tray for the Englishman.

‘Now tell us about him,’ Davina demanded. ‘Who is he? What did the doctor say?’

Of course they would be curious about the man she’d rescued.

Mairi replied, ‘His name is John Lucas.’

‘But what is his regiment?’ Niven asked. ‘I thought he was a soldier.’

‘I did not ask him about being a soldier. He has only this morning been out of danger.’ Mairi glanced from Niven to Davina. ‘Mr Grassie believes he is much improved, but he must rest. And he still may be contagious, so you must stay away from his room.’

‘I do not mind helping,’ Davina said.

Mairi frowned. ‘Better it be Niven. It would not be proper for you to be in his room.’

Davina’s chin lifted. ‘Then it is not proper for you either, Mairi. But you were in his room day and night, were you not?’

Mairi could see that Cook listened to their every word. ‘Only because he had the fever and we had to limit how many were exposed to it. In any event, now that the fever is gone, it should be Niven who attends him.’

‘But I won’t be here!’ Niven protested. ‘Not tomorrow. I am off to Crawfurd’s tomorrow.’

William Crawfurd was Niven’s childhood friend, about to embark on a Grand Tour abroad—something out of the question for Niven since both his tutor and Davina’s governess had left for positions that would actually pay them.

‘Well, attend him today.’ Mairi would worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

She followed Niven down the hallway, knocked on the butler’s door and opened it, stepping inside long enough to see Mr Lucas rise.

‘Miss Wallace.’ He nodded.

Again she felt that pull towards him.

She stepped aside so Niven could enter. ‘My brother. Niven.’

The Englishman’s eyes left hers only briefly to acknowledge Niven.

‘He brought you food,’ she said unnecessarily.

Before the man could say another word, she left the room.

* * *

The youth carrying the food tray grinned at Lucas. ‘You’ll have to forgive Mairi. She has a bee in her bonnet about something, I’ll give you that.’

‘I understand she tended to me these last three days,’ Lucas responded. ‘She must be quite fatigued.’

‘Well, I helped some,’ the boy said. He lifted the tray slightly. ‘I’ve brought you some food. Shall I set the tray on the table or would you like to eat on the bed?’

‘The table.’ After the doctor had left, Lucas had forced himself not to crawl back under the bedcovers, but he’d not progressed beyond sitting on the bed’s edge.

He rose, holding on to the bedpost until he knew his legs would support him. He marshalled enough energy to walk the few steps to the chair by the table. He nearly collapsed into it.

‘Mairi said your name is Lucas.’ Niven set the tray in front of him.

He ought to have introduced himself. ‘That is so.’

The boy flopped down on a second wooden chair at the table. ‘Mr Grassie said you were in the army, because of the scars on your chest. Is that so?’

They’d seen his scars? Of course they had. He’d been nearly naked.

‘Not any more,’ he replied, wishing the boy would probe no further. He tore off a piece of bread and swallowed a small bite. ‘Tell me what you know of how I came to be here,’ he said instead. ‘Your sister said very little of it.’

The boy was eager to answer. ‘Davina and I found you. Davina is my other sister. You saw her before when we came in.’

He told the story in great detail with emphasis on the speed of his running to seek help from his older sister and again to send for the wagon that had carried Lucas back from one of the hills on their property, a hill that possessed a stone circle. Flashes of memory returned. The rain. Staggering to a stone that kept the cold wind from his back. Voices—Niven’s and Davina’s voices, he now surmised.

Mairi Wallace had waited with him until the wagon came. It seemed she’d been at his side right from the beginning.

‘How was it your sister was the one to care for me?’ Why not a servant? Or their mother?

‘Mairi? She wouldn’t let anybody else,’ the boy responded. ‘Except for me. I sat with you when she had to eat or rest or something, but she wouldn’t let me touch you. Said nobody else should get close.’

Because they could become ill? What about her? She had risked illness tending to him.

Lucas took a long gulp of ale. ‘Were there no servants who could help?’

‘Mairi would not hear of it,’ Niven replied. ‘We don’t have that many servants, anyway. Several have left us recently.’ Niven leaned back, balancing on the back legs of the chair. ‘So Mairi thinks she has to do everything to make up for it.’ The chair slipped, but he caught it in time to right it again. ‘If Mama knew it, she’d be very cross.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘Mama thinks the servants are still doing all the work. I tease Mairi that I’ll tell Mama she’s doing it. Or making Davina and me do it. Mairi becomes too iron-handed at times. She can be the most insufferable nag.’

Mairi sounded incredibly burdened. More so now with him barely able to stand.

‘Why did your servants leave?’ Lucas asked.

‘I think they wanted to get paid,’ Niven replied. ‘Things are a little tight for us at the moment.’

That was quite an admission. Lucas had apparently wound up in a household that could not afford one extra mouth.

The boy chattered on as Lucas finished the soup. An hour passed pleasantly enough and Lucas learned more about the family than he suspected Niven’s older sister would have wished.

There was a rap on the door and Niven called out, ‘Come in.’

Miss Wallace—Mairi—entered. Lucas stood, but braced himself on the table.

‘Niven!’ She glared at her brother. ‘I’ve been searching for you. What are you doing in here? You should not be bothering this man.’

Niven looked petulant. ‘We were conversing. Conversing isn’t bothering.’

‘It is when he’s unwell,’ she retorted. ‘Take the dishes back to the kitchen, then wait for me. I need your help.’ She turned to Lucas. ‘I’ve brought your purse, Mr Lucas.’ She handed it to him.

‘Thank you, Miss Wallace.’ His hand brushed hers as he took it from her. ‘I appreciate that.’

Niven glanced towards Lucas and rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose I must do her bidding. Good day, Lucas.’

‘Thank you for bringing the food.’

‘Mairi made me do it.’ The boy grinned. ‘But I did not mind.’

‘Go!’ Miss Wallace commanded.

Niven slowly slid off the chair and ambled from the room.

Miss Wallace turned her lovely blue eyes on Lucas. ‘I am terribly sorry. He wasn’t supposed to stay.’

‘He was no bother,’ Lucas assured her. ‘Thank you for the food, Miss Wallace. I am much restored.’

She shrugged. ‘Cook had the soup already made.’

Her gaze caught his and held. Her presence soothed him. He did not want her to leave.

She glanced towards the door and back. ‘Do you require anything else?’

He would not hold her there, much as he wished to.

He rubbed his chin. ‘My satchel? My razor should be in it.’

She nodded. ‘Your satchel was also hung to dry. That night you spent out on the hill, it rained quite heavily.’ She started for the door. ‘I will have Niven bring it to you.’

Not her?

‘I will leave you now.’ Their gazes caught again, but she turned towards the door.

‘Miss Wallace?’

She looked back at him.

‘I am grateful to you. More than I can say.’

She lifted the latch on the door and walked out.

Lucas was left alone with only his memories and regrets. He closed his eyes, wishing he had the company of a bottle of whisky. Or two.

Chapter Four

Mairi again left his room with her heart racing. When the Englishman looked at her with those vivid blue eyes all she could see was pain. Not physical pain, but the kind that reaches down into one’s soul, the kind of pain with which she was acutely familiar. It felt like a bond with him.

What nonsense, though.

She shook off the feeling and hurried to the kitchen, where Niven was happily munching on some biscuits Cook had given him.

‘Niven, I need you to bring Mr Lucas his clothing and satchel and everything that was in it. They are in the footmen’s room.’

Her brother looked up at her. ‘Zounds, Mairi. No need to bark orders at me. I want to help.’

She walked over to him and ruffled his hair, which always annoyed him. ‘I am sorry, Niven. I do not know what I would do without you.’

He ran a testy hand through his hair, but looked up at her with serious eyes. ‘Do you need me to forgo my visit with Crawfurd?’

Niven knew their family was in financial difficulty, but Mairi did not have the heart to tell him precisely how serious she suspected it was and how she feared it might result in him losing his birthright.

‘No, dear Brother.’ She kissed him on his head, another gesture that irked him. ‘You deserve some enjoyment.’

He waved her away, but grinned at her.

She made her way up the stairs to the hall. Papa and Mama would be up by now and they should be informed about what the doctor had said.

Davina stood at the foot of the staircase. ‘I just saw Niven in the kitchen. He said he’d be taking care of Mr Lucas today. I do not see why he gets to do it. Why can I not help?’

Mairi opened her mouth to answer, but Davina interrupted.

‘Never mind saying it isn’t proper. You have to help, so I should be able to help as well.’

Mairi put her arm around Davina’s shoulders. ‘There is plenty to do here besides seeing to Mr Lucas, Davina, as you well know.’

‘But I wanted to be the Good Samaritan.’ Davina’s lip trembled.

‘You have already been the Good Samaritan,’ Mairi assured her. ‘By finding Mr Lucas and seeing he was helped.’

‘Niven is telling everyone he found him,’ she protested. ‘But it was me. I saw him first.’

‘And you could have walked by him. That makes you like the Good Samaritan.’

Davina’s eyes widened. ‘I could never have walked by him!’

Mairi’s younger sister possessed a pure, kind heart. She was sweet. And unspoiled.

Mairi gave her a hug. ‘Let us find Mama and Papa and tell them that Mr Lucas is much improved.’

* * *

Their parents were in the morning room finishing a leisurely breakfast with one of the footmen, Robert, to attend them.

Davina entered the room first, rushing up to her mother. ‘Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa.’ She kissed both on the cheek.

Mairi poured herself a cup of tea and sat at the table. ‘The sick man is much better. His fever broke at last. Mr Grassie was here earlier.’ Her father lowered his newspaper to listen.

‘Oh, yes, the sick man.’ Her mother spoke as if she’d forgotten about him. ‘What did the good doctor say?’

‘Mr Grassie has prescribed rest. The man must stay here for a week or so.’ Mairi softened the time frame and omitted the part about him being contagious, both matters guaranteed to rattle her mother. And, of course, Mairi neglected to mention that she had been the one caring for Mr Lucas.

Her father turned back to his paper. ‘Good man, Grassie.’

Her mother smiled approvingly at her husband’s pronouncement. ‘Indeed he is.’ She glanced back at Mairi. ‘See that the servants give our patient good care, will you, Mairi?’

Robert glanced at Mairi, his bland expression turning to one of worry.

She nodded to him so he’d know she noticed, before answering her mother. ‘I will see to it, Mama. His name is Mr Lucas, by the way.’

‘Lucas?’ Her mother looked up in thought. ‘I do not believe we know any Lucases.’

‘He is an Englishman, Mama.’

‘An Englishman?’ Her father dropped his paper again. ‘I do not fancy an Englishman in our house.’ Her father prided himself on being a full-blooded Scottish patriot.

‘It will only be a few days.’ She changed the subject. ‘What plans have you for today?’

Her mother leaned forward with bright eyes. ‘Mrs Webster will be calling.’ Mrs Webster was the local dressmaker. ‘She is in possession of some new muslins and fashion prints, so don’t you run off somewhere.’ She gave severe looks to both Mairi and Davina. ‘We must measure you both for new gowns.’

‘No, Mama!’ Mairi protested. ‘We do not need to spend more money on gowns!’

Her mother tapped Mairi’s hand. ‘We must! For the house party at Lord Oxmont’s. You must look your best.’

It was no secret that her mother had great hopes that this house party would result in a proposal of marriage for Mairi, but how could she marry? She was not a virgin. A man would be able to tell, she’d heard the maids say.

In any event, they could not afford to pay Mrs Webster for new dresses. ‘Mrs Webster might alter our old dresses,’ she said. ‘That would certainly cost less.’

Davina’s brow furrowed. ‘Do we not have enough money for new dresses?’

Their father took Davina’s hand and squeezed it. ‘It is not as bad as all that, my wee one.’

But it was every bit as bad as all that. And more.

Her father returned to his paper. Mairi could expect no support from him.

She sighed. ‘What about you, Papa? What are your plans?’

He put down his newspaper again. ‘I am off to look at a horse. Laird Buchan put me on to a pretty mare for sale.’

‘Papa!’ Mairi could keep quiet no longer. ‘We do not need another horse!’ They’d lost most of their grooms already, those who wanted to be paid for their work in coin, not promises. ‘We cannot afford it!’

Her father’s face turned red. ‘I’ll not have you speak to me in that tone of voice, lass.’ He lifted his paper again. ‘Besides, a steed like this one comes around once in a lifetime. Or so I’m told.’

Mairi had tried every way she knew to convince her parents to economise. She’d begged them to stop buying things. She’d suggested they sell what they no longer needed. Her mother had gone into palpitations when Mairi had said they should sell some of the jewellery her father was so fond of buying for her.

If her father and mother did not change their ways soon they’d lose the caput—their land and with it her father’s title. In Scotland, a baron could sell both. What future would Niven and Davina have then?

Mairi rose. If she remained another minute, she was likely to lose her temper completely and she knew from experience it only made matters worse.

‘I must go,’ she said. ‘If I have your leave, Papa?’

‘Yes, lass.’ Her father’s good humour returned as it always did. ‘Do not forget about the dressmaker.’

Mairi strode out of the room.

Robert followed her. ‘Does your da not have enough money?’ the footman asked worriedly.

Robert was twenty, Mairi’s age, and a simple young man, the son of one of the crofters. He had not been a footman for very long.

‘Money is tight, Robert.’ She would not lie to him. ‘That is why you have not been paid, but we have enough to keep a roof over our heads and food in our mouths, so there is that.’

Robert’s parents had died of fever a year ago and he’d been their only son. Her father had generously offered to make him a footman. At the time, it had seemed an extravagance to Mairi, but now she did not know what the family would do without him and Erwin, their only other footman.

‘And don’t think I will ask you to care for Mr Lucas, the sick man,’ she added. ‘I know you are overworked and I do not want you to catch the fever.’

His face relaxed. ‘I can help some, miss,’ he said earnestly. ‘I already brushed out his clothes and polished his boots. They should be dry by now.’

‘I saw that you did that, Robert,’ she responded. ‘They were quite wet and dirty. It was a big job. I do appreciate it so very much.’

His face turned red at the compliment. He glanced towards the door. ‘I best return to my duties.’

‘Yes,’ she said.

He bowed and re-entered the morning room.

Mairi turned away. She’d promised the housekeeper she would tidy her parents’ rooms and she needed to hurry before they finished their breakfast.

* * *

That afternoon Mairi helped Mrs Cross close down the guest bedrooms. They were rarely used and it would save the two maids much work to take down the curtains and cover the furniture with dust covers.

Davina came to tell her the dressmaker had arrived. ‘Mama wants us to come straight away.’

‘Very well.’ Mairi closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself before removing her apron and cap and brushing off her dress.

As they walked to their mother’s dressing room, Davina asked, ‘Can we really not afford new dresses, Mairi?’

At fourteen, Davina was old enough to know the reality of their situation. ‘We should not order new clothes,’ Mairi responded. ‘Papa has been unable to pay our servants for some time. That is why so many have left. He has many unpaid bills. He will not be able to pay Mrs Webster for anything we buy.’

Davina turned her head away and did not speak for a few moments. Finally she said, ‘Then I will say I dislike all of the new fabrics and the fashion prints. Mama will not make me order a dress I do not like. And I will try to convince Mama that the fabrics and designs will not do for her either.’

Mairi put her arm around her sister. ‘Very clever, Davina. Mama will not like to be embarrassed that way. We can show Mrs Webster some of our old dresses. I believe Mama will be satisfied if we have something that looks new.’

* * *

Lucas took another sip of tea as young Niven peppered him with questions about himself—about his time in the army.

‘What regiment were you in?’ Niven asked.

‘The First Royal Dragoons,’ he replied.

The boy’s eyes brightened. ‘The First Royals? Were you in the charge with the Scots Greys at Waterloo?’

The memory of it came back. The thundering of the horses, their screams, the contorted faces of the French soldiers, the blood.

His brother.

By Jupiter, he needed whisky.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I was.’

‘Wait until my father hears about that!’ Niven beamed. ‘He is excessively proud of the Scots Greys. To hear him, you’d think they won the battle for the Allies.’

The Scots Greys were brave, no question, but they also had been untried in battle. They’d ridden too far ahead of the main charge and, as a result, too many had been cut down.

Like Bradleigh.

‘Were you in the Peninsula, too?’ Niven asked. ‘What other battles did you fight? Was it glorious? I cannot imagine such a sight. A cavalry charge!’

Lucas’s answers were terse and he hoped the boy did not notice the trembling of his hands, the stiffening of his shoulders. It was the anguish of remembering. Enough of this. He wanted out of this place. The boy forced him to remember and the sister made him care when all he wanted was to shut off his emotions and be alone.

There was a knock at the door.

‘Come in,’ Niven called as if this was his room, not Lucas’s.

Miss Wallace peeked in, her gaze riveting on her brother. ‘Niven! I was afraid you were here.’

Lucas rose to his feet, but braced his hands on the table. She gestured for him to sit down. He wanted to remain standing, but his legs threatened not to hold him. He sank back into the chair.