The Seduction of Elliot McBride (Mackenzies Series) Page 4

  “He couldn’t have fed me before he left? My family works this land for six hundred years, and now the laird is foisted off without a crust of bread?”

  “I’ll rummage for ye.” Elliot put his hand on the small of Juliana’s back and guided her toward the bedroom.

  McGregor’s outraged expression gave way to a sudden laugh. “Can’t wait to be at it, can ye, lad? Lovely bride like that—I don’t blame ye at all, m’boy.” Chuckling, he uncocked the gun and retreated to the room from which he’d sprung. He slammed the door so hard that bits of plaster floated down from the ceiling.

  Elliot remained in the hall, Priti still perched on his shoulders. “You rest,” he said to Juliana. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and fix Uncle McGregor some food.”

  “I thought you said you’d bought the estate from him,” Juliana said, confused.

  “Aye, but the rest of McGregor’s family are dead, and he has nowhere to go. He’d never manage in one of the estate cottages on his own. I told him he had a home here until he chooses otherwise.”

  Juliana let out a breath. “I understand, though I wish you had warned me. I thought my heart would stop. I suppose his staff won’t mind looking after us as well?”

  Elliot set Priti on her feet. “Uncle McGregor has no staff. Just Hamish.”

  “Oh.”

  Juliana had been raised in a house with no less than twenty people to take care of two. This place was immense and tumbledown, and Mahindar and his family couldn’t be expected to do everything themselves. Juliana saw, stretching before her, a great deal of planning and work.

  Elliot turned away. Priti jumped away from Nandita, who was trying to get her to stay in the bedroom, and ran for Elliot. “Kitchen!” she shouted.

  Elliot scooped her up again. “All right, Priti. Let’s go explore the kitchens.”

  He didn’t seem to mind the girl hugging him around the neck while he carried her down the hall, heading for the stairs.

  Juliana closed the door and looked at the bed, a monster of a thing crouched in the middle of the room.

  “Why put it there?” she asked out loud.

  Nandita stared at her, not understanding. Something in the corner caught Nandita’s attention, and she cried out, pointing.

  Juliana followed the young woman’s outstretched finger, then heard the rustling and skittering. “Ah,” she said. “That’s why.”

  A string of mice raced across the edge of the room from one corner to the other before plunging behind the skirting board. When Juliana turned back to Nandita, she found the young woman in the center of the bed, her arms curled around her knees, her colorful scarves covering her body.

  One of the mice chose to make a daring dash across the carpetless floor, heading right for Juliana. Juliana shrieked as loudly as Nandita had and scrambled to the center of the bed. Nandita reached for her, the two ladies hugged each other, and Juliana began to laugh, peal after peal that wouldn’t stop.

  Elliot found the kitchen easily enough at the end of a long passage. An echoing room, it had been kept in some repair—the stove shiny and the coal bin stocked, the cabinets fitted with latched doors to keep the mice from the food.

  The room was gloomy, the sun finally setting behind the mountains. Elliot lit candles, reflecting that he’d have to send Mahindar back to the village for kerosene and some lamps. It would be a long time before gas was laid on at the McGregor house.

  Two worktables ran the length of the big kitchen, the end of one cleaned and sanded enough for using. Elliot set Priti down on one of the two stools there and began rummaging for food. He could at least take McGregor some toasted bread and cheese if nothing else. A good bottle of whiskey or a pint of ale might ease the man’s temper as well.

  The dismay in Juliana’s voice when he’d told her there was no staff but Hamish had been sharp. When Elliot had first visited this house, he’d seen its potential, not its flaws. A place where he could retreat from the world and lick his wounds.

  He could restore it himself—he didn’t mind hard work. He also knew that the villagers would welcome the extra wages for helping him. Elliot had enough money to employ them all. The fortune he’d amassed in India, which had continued to build even when he’d been in prison, was now vast.

  When Elliot had picked this house, he’d pictured himself sharing it with Juliana, the only woman he’d have considered marrying, even though she’d been betrothed to another.

  What I asked, Elliot, was whether you would marry me. The question had dangled in front of him like a lifeline. He’d clutched it, desperately hanging on, not letting go.

  He’d never let go.

  Elliot sliced bread with a knife that had only a few crumbs clinging to it. He handed one slice to Priti, who gnawed on it then made a face. The child didn’t like English or Scottish food, but she’d have to put up with it until Mahindar could make his marvelous butter naan or delicious roti.

  Mahindar and family had not accompanied Elliot on his first trip up here to buy the estate, and Elliot knew that the state of the kitchen would draw Mahindar’s dismay. But Mahindar had worked miracles before.

  Elliot found another knife and a square piece of yellow cheese. The stove wasn’t stoked, so McGregor would have to eat his bread cold.

  The knife went through the hunk of cheese at the same time Elliot heard a faint step behind him. A stealthy step of someone who did not want Elliot to know he was there. It wasn’t Juliana, who smelled of rose water, nor was it Mahindar or one of his family. Nor was it McGregor, who pounded about like a troop of soldiers.

  All this flashed through Elliot’s thoughts before his mind went blank. Heat came rushing at him, the flat heat of summer in the dry lands. There was no shadow, no concealing cover. He had to run, run for his life, but it was all open, nowhere to go.

  And someone was behind him. There was no getting away—Elliot had to turn and fight. Bile rose in his throat. He’d have to kill or die.

  Elliot shouted as he spun around, grabbed the muscular intruder, shoved him across the kitchen, and plunged the knife at his attacker’s throat.

  Chapter 4

  Elliot’s captive yelled. And yelled and yelled. Over the noise came the familiar voice of Mahindar.

  “No, no, no, no, sahib! You must not!”

  Yes, he did. Elliot had to kill, he had to get away…

  A big hand landed on his arm, stopping the knife. “No, sahib. You are safe now. This young one, he is a friend.”

  Elliot blinked. And blinked again. Mahindar’s dark face swam to him through the gloom, the man’s kind brown eyes full of distress.

  Under Elliot’s hand, a body struggled, and someone gasped for air. Elliot’s vision cleared, and he found that he held young Hamish, the bread knife about to nick the skin of his throat.

  Mahindar stood beside Elliot, one hand on his arm. Behind Mahindar were his mother and wife; beyond them, Priti, still chewing her bread while she looked on with round eyes.

  And then the clatter of feet in the passage, and Juliana’s worried voice. “Is everything all right? I heard shouting. Elliot?”

  Damn, damn, and damn. Why the devil had Hamish tried to creep up on him like that?

  “Sahib, you really must give me the knife.”

  Elliot growled. He shoved Hamish away from him and tossed the knife to an empty table, then stormed out the kitchen’s back door into the gathering dusk of the Scottish evening.

  Juliana remained in place for one moment, then she started for the open door. “Elliot…”

  Mahindar stepped in her way. “It is best to let him go, memsahib. One never knows what he might do when he is like this.”

  “But what is the matter? Hamish, what did you do?”

  “Nothin’!” Hamish adjusted the collar of his shirt, his eyes still huge. “I didn’t do nothin’, promise ye, m’lady. I came in same as always. Then I saw Himself, and I thought, Mr. McBride, he’s a rich man and a gentleman, and I work for him now. So maybe I should walk a bit q
uieter than I usually do. Mr. McGregor says I’m like a drum brigade. I was tryin’ t’ be dec’rous.”

  “He does not like anyone walking softly behind him,” Mahindar said. “Better you be a drum brigade.”

  “Why doesn’t he?” Juliana asked. “Mahindar, what is the matter? Please, tell me.”

  Mahindar looked sad. “The sahib is very ill. He is much, much better now, but when we found him after he escaped his jail, he was a raving madman. We cared for him for a long time before he was able to speak to us and tell us what happened. The poor man went through a great ordeal. He is very strong, and very brave.”

  Juliana looked past Mahindar to the overgrown path outside the open back door, night at last falling. “Will he be all right?”

  “Yes, indeed. The best thing for him is to walk about by himself. He will come back, as you British say, right as rain.”

  “You’ll make certain?” Juliana asked.

  “Yes, memsahib. I will do that. Now, my wife will take you up and put you to bed. Nandita, when she is terrified, is useless, but I will make her and Priti go to sleep. Things will be well in the morning.”

  Juliana was not certain they would be, but she consented to walk back upstairs with Channan, who made her way robustly through the dark and dirty house. Mahindar’s mother—Komal—came behind, saying nothing but looking about her with the same interest as she had all day.

  They found Nandita still in the middle of the bed, hugging herself. After a few words from Komal, Nandita scrambled off the bed and scuttled from the room. Juliana heard Mahindar calling Nandita from downstairs, and Nandita’s running footsteps, heading toward him.

  Channan went at once to Juliana’s valise and began unpacking with competence. She must be used to being a lady’s maid, Juliana decided, because she knew which garments to hang in the heavy armoire and which to fold away into the drawers of the high chest.

  Komal walked around the room looking things over. She pushed back the silk covering on her head, showing that her hair was gray mixed with black. Channan’s hair was jet-black, and her face was plump and unlined.

  Channan finished putting away Juliana’s clothes and came to unbutton her dress. Komal ignored them to approach the bed. She put her palms on the mattress, smoothing it, then she said something to Channan and laughed.

  Channan laughed as well, while Juliana stood between them, bewildered. “She says you have much luck,” Channan said. “A husband so rich and handsome. The sahib is a good catch.”

  Juliana blushed, which made both women laugh again. Komal brushed her hands over the mattress and talked at some length. Channan nodded and answered, then turned back to Juliana.

  “She says she’ll give you a charm. So you have many sons.”

  Juliana thought about Elliot wandering about the McGregor grounds in the dark, and wondered if she would have the opportunity to have sons at all. Channan must have understood her expression, because she said, “Do not worry. The sahib will be well. My husband takes care of him.”

  Elliot still had not returned when Channan tucked Juliana up in bed in a clean night rail, with a wrapped brick to warm the sheets. Channan and Komal made quite a lot of noise quieting each other, then they finally slipped out of the room, leaving Juliana alone.

  On her wedding night.

  The sky darkened, the open windows cooling the summer air. The house grew quiet, the walls thick enough that sound didn’t carry from the floors below. Outside, the silence was broken by frogs croaking frantically for mates and wind sighing in the trees. The quiet here, when Juliana was used to the noise of the city, was deafening.

  The moon rose, its silver disk broken by the trees, and shone on the bed where Juliana lay waiting. And still, Elliot did not come.

  Well past midnight, Elliot heard a branch break in the woods behind him. This was followed by a loud rustling and the voice of Mahindar. “Do not worry, sahib. It is me.”

  Elliot stood atop a rock that overlooked the rushing river below. Moonlight glittered on the water’s surface and also on the spires of his new house, a false castle built on the site of an ancient one.

  Mahindar slipped and slid on the path, flailing for balance. Elliot put out a hand and pulled the man up onto solid rock beside him.

  Of course Mahindar would come to find him. The man had made it his task in life to look after Elliot, ever since Elliot had taken Mahindar away from another planter who’d hired him as a valet then treated him little better than a slave. Elliot had visited the planter one day and found him beating Mahindar.

  The planter had apologized—to Elliot—for Mahindar’s behavior, and had gone on about Mahindar’s shortcomings, until Elliot had said, “If you don’t like him, he can come to work for me.” The planter had been surprised then looked grateful. Sikhs, the planter had said, couldn’t be taught proper humility, and he’d been a fool to take one on.

  Kindly Mahindar had looked upon Elliot as his savior forever after that.

  Mahindar peered up at him now. “You are all right, sahib?”

  “Better. How is the lad?”

  “Oh, you scared the piss out of him, no mistake. But he will recover.”

  “And Mrs. McBride?”

  “Put to bed. My wife looked in on her before I came out, and she is sleeping, as you say, like a baby.”

  “Good.” Elliot couldn’t forget the look on Juliana’s face when she’d walked into the kitchen and seen him with his knife at Hamish’s throat. Her bewilderment had turned into astonishment and then worry. But not fear. Juliana wasn’t afraid of him.

  “Will you join her, sahib?” Mahindar asked.

  He sounded eager. But then, Mahindar enjoyed weddings and marriages and the possibility of children. He and his wife had borne five sons, all of whom had married and now started families of their own. Mahindar liked to take care of people, which was why he’d brought his mother and Nandita, Channan’s young sister from her father’s second marriage, to Scotland with him. Mahindar had saved Elliot’s life and believed it his duty to make sure Elliot was well so that his effort hadn’t been in vain.

  “You will have to share her bed in any case,” Mahindar said. “There is no other.”

  Elliot jumped down from the big rock, helped Mahindar scramble down, and started along the path to the house.

  When they reached Castle McGregor, all was silent within. Hamish and Mahindar’s family must have gone to their beds.

  Mahindar stopped Elliot before he could make his way out of the kitchen. “You must not go to her like that, sahib. You must be presentable.”

  He had a point. Elliot was dusted with soot from the train journey, and his climb in the woods had rendered him muddy. Mahindar pumped water into the kitchen sink—clean from a well—and instructed Elliot to strip to his kilt.

  The water was freezing. Mahindar dunked Elliot’s head all the way in, using the cake of soap that he’d brought from Edinburgh to scrub Elliot’s hair and body clean. Mahindar had bought glycerin and rosewater soap, which had made Elliot’s brothers and sister laugh. At least it got him clean, if smelling a bit like a lady’s boudoir.

  Mahindar brought out Elliot’s thick dressing gown and the Indian silk drawers in which Elliot usually slept. Elliot donned these and climbed the stairs, taking a candle himself, refusing Mahindar’s offer to light the way.

  The candlelight wavered on the Gothic arches in the hall, making the place cavernous, decorative stone finials hanging like strange stalactites. As a boy, Elliot had felt a tingle of fear walking in this place, but it was peaceful to him now. This was nothing more than an old house, through which had passed its share of families—births, marriages, deaths, laughter, sorrow, lovemaking. No terror, horror, or fear so deadly it made a man wrap up in himself and weep.

  Elliot pushed open the door of the bedchamber, at the same time blowing out the candle. Moonlight spilled through the unshuttered window, a beam spreading over the bed in the middle of the room.

  Juliana lay on her back in
the bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, but she wasn’t asleep. Elliot heard the quick breath that told him she was wide awake, never mind how tightly she’d closed her eyes.

  He deposited the candlestick on the nearest table and went to the bed. Juliana lay like a princess in a storybook, waiting for the prince to waken her with a kiss.

  Elliot thought of the heady taste of her lips when he’d kissed her at the altar. Her skin had been damp with warmth and agitation, the taste of her like honey on his tongue.

  He rested his hand on the bedpost, leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss to the dimple at the corner of her mouth.

  Juliana’s eyes flew open. She looked at him with no trace of sleep in her eyes. “Is young Hamish all right?”

  Elliot straightened up, his hand still on the bedpost. “He will be.”

  “I hope he wasn’t too frightened.”

  “He’s recovered.” Elliot tried to move from his fixed stance and found he couldn’t.

  Juliana’s color deepened, and she cleared her throat. “Are you coming to bed, Elliot?”

  Her high-necked nightgown was prim, but this was the first time Elliot had seen her without the barricade of stays, bustles, skirts, and tightly buttoned bodices.

  Elliot finally let go of the bedpost to untie his dressing gown and let it fall from him. He watched her gaze go to his bare torso, then drop to the silk drawers that rode low on his hips, a drawstring holding them closed. The underbreeches reached his calves, leaving the rest of his legs bare.

  “An unusual garment,” she said, her voice soft.

  “They’re Indian. I prefer them to English clothes.”

  “Do you? Why?”

  “Much more comfortable.” The cool air from the window touched his skin. “More practical in a hot climate.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Elliot remained rigidly beside the bed. He wanted her with a desire so hard it gripped him, but still he couldn’t move.