Chapter 2
Chapter Two
When Mistress Gallagher’s toe caught on one of the stone stairs, she pitched forward, and Fergus caught her around the waist. “Watch your step.”
“I-I am, Mr. McTaggart.”
As she began to ease from his embrace, he tucked her closer against his side. “You might not have fallen this time, lass, but I willna have you getting hurt before Christmas.”
She blinked up at him, her blue eyes magnified behind her spectacles. “And after Christmas?”
“Well, I suppose I cannae allow anything to happen to you after Christmas either,” he replied with a chuckle. “No’ when you’ll be looking over your shoulder now that the element of surprise is gone.”
Her lips pursed briefly as she pushed free of his hold and scrambled up the stairs. He sighed and followed. Her reaction didn’t surprise him; now that Mistress Gallagher was Helena’s paid companion, she outclassed him.
There wasn’t a chance in hell she would welcome the attentions of a lowly servant, not when fortune had elevated her from former brothel maid to company fit for a baroness.
Only the Thornes, Helena’s sisters, and Fergus knew of Mistress Gallagher’s past, and no one was of a mind to reveal her secret, especially when doing so could harm Helena and Miss Gracie.
Mistress Gallagher paused midway up the climb and glanced over her shoulder. “How much further, sir?” She sounded breathless, not accustomed to the same level of activity as he was.
“We’re halfway there, lass. Let’s stop to catch our breath.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers as he waited.
She nodded and reclined against the curved staircase wall. A pink flush covered her chest, neck, and face, and her breathing had grown labored. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were debating whether to dash back down the stairs. She wet her lips, her gaze seemingly drawn to his mouth.
Perhaps he’d discovered one thing he did correctly. Kissing. She’d offered no complaints below stairs, and he suspected she wouldn’t protest if he kissed her again. He suppressed a satisfied grin, fearing it would only irritate her and lead to another battle.
Her breath stirred a silky strand of silky hair that had escaped from the punishing knot at the back of her nape. She was a pretty lass when she wasn’t yelling at him. Not that he had only just noticed.
He’d taken to avoiding her soon after arriving at Aldmist Fell to prevent anyone from seeing how he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Even in matronly gowns and spectacles fit for a grandmother, she couldn’t hide her beauty.
Her skin looked as soft as a bairn’s, but she was all woman. She had curves that could keep a husband happily in her bed every night for the rest of his life.
“Mr. McTaggart.” Her voice was whip-crack sharp, and his gaze snapped to her face.
Damnation! He’d been staring like a starving mongrel in a room full of bones. She pursed her lips again, which didn’t help redirect his focus.
“I thought the skates were in the attic, sir. This staircase seems to be leading to another part of the castle.”
He offered a sheepish shrug. “There isnae an actual attic at Aldmist Fell. The north tower is used for storage, but asking a lady to the tower has a sinister ring to it.”
She said nothing for a moment, then a rare smile appeared on her face. “Is this a ruse to take off my head?”
He chuckled, surprised to discover she had a sense of humor. “If you promise to leave my head intact, you may keep yours.”
“Very well,” she said. “That sounds like a reasonable compromise.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. Keeping one’s head was merely a compromise? The lass knew how to keep him on his toes. “Are you rested? Should we continue?”
She nodded once, then turned to trudge up the stairs, her hand braced against the wall for support. Fergus grinned without restraint. The lass had to know he would be eying her backside for the rest of the climb.
When they reached the tower door, Fergus retrieved a ring of keys from his pocket and tried each one until he found the correct fit. The tumbler clicked, and the door swung inward, creaking on rusty hinges.
A winter gray sky cast little light through the tower windows, but they should still be able to find what they were looking for among the trunks stacked in the center of the chamber.
Mistress Gallagher followed him into the room, hands on her hips as she shook her head.
“A week? This could take more like a month. Christmas will be over, and Lady Thorne’s guests will be headed back to where they came from before we find those skates.”
Fergus tried to see the mess through her eyes and agreed that the task ahead appeared daunting, but he had some idea of where the skates were stored. “I’ll wager we’ll find them before afternoon tea.”
Her eyes sparkled with a touch of playfulness behind her wire spectacles. “What do you wish to wager, Mr. McTaggart?”
“I didnae—”
He clamped his mouth shut, stopping himself before he blurted out that he’d meant it as a figure of speech. A wager could be just what they needed to get to know each other better, and Fergus was eager to learn more about the lass.
He had given up on satisfying his curiosity soon after she came to live with Lord and Lady Thorne; any time he asked about her past, she deftly changed the subject.
Before moving into the Thornes’ home in London to help care for Miss Gracie, Mistress Gallagher had lived the life of an independent woman, sharing a home with Helena’s sister in Chelsea and answering to no man.
Even stronger than his urge to kiss her was his desire to understand why she had abandoned her independence to help a young girl have a better life.
He rubbed his jaw, noting he hadn’t done the best job with his morning shave. “What do you suggest the wager should be?”
“If we do not find the skates before tea, I want to go on an adventure with you and Gracie. I’ve barely stepped outside the castle since we arrived, and to be completely candid, I am growing restless and want to explore the land.”
Fergus liked that she wanted to see Aldmist Fell beyond the castle walls. As the land steward, it was his pride and joy.
His father had worked the land when Fergus was a lad, and after his father had been laid to rest, the former lord of the estate entrusted him with its care. Someday, he hoped to have a son of his own to ensure Aldmist Fell continued to flourish.
“I’ll accept that wager,” he said. “And if we find the skates before tea, you have to answer three questions about yourself.”
Her gaze turned to ice, and he sensed a wall erecting between them.
“What could I possibly tell you that you do not already know, Mr. McTaggart?”
He didn’t want to frighten her away with overly personal questions.
“I dinnae know your favorite holiday sweet, or if you like to sing carols, or if you’ve ever been on a sleigh ride.”
“Oh!” She blinked, clearly caught off guard by his harmless inquiry.
“Well, I’ve always loved fruited nut cake. I enjoy singing, although I suspect others would prefer I not, since I cannot carry a tune. And I’ve never had the opportunity to go on a sleigh ride.”
He grinned. “See? That wasna difficult.”
“No, I guess it wasn’t.” She smiled, her face softening. “Where should we begin our search?”
“How about over there?”
He pointed to a stack of trunks furthest from where he thought the skates might be found. This was one wager he didn’t mind losing, as he suspected he could sneak in a question or two while exploring Aldmist Fell.
And if he couldn’t, he had no doubt Gracie would perform the task for him; that lassie was full of curiosity.
He grasped the handles of the top trunk, lowered it to the ground, and popped the lid open, releasing the familiar scent of aged cedar and wool.
“You start with this one, and I will check the one beneath it.”
Edith swiped a sleeve across her damp forehead. The afternoon light barely penetrated the gloom of the tower chamber, and their chances of finding the skates were dwindling with the setting sun.
Mr. McTaggart rocked back on his heels, abandoning the trunk he had been searching to pull a watch from his pocket. “It appears you won the wager, lass. Lady Thorne is likely wondering why you’ve not made an appearance in the drawing room this afternoon.”
Edith sighed, partly relieved that she wouldn’t be subjected to more questions, even if Mr. McTaggart's inquiries during their hunt had been harmless.
He’d asked about her favorite places in London, whether she knew how to skate, and how long she had been caring for Miss Gracie before Lord Thorne found them in Chelsea.
Gracie had been living with Edith and her dear friend Lavinia for only a few months when Lord Thorne appeared at their door. Lavinia and Gracie were Lady Thorne’s long-lost sisters. After her first husband’s death, Lady Thorne had traveled to London to search for them.
Edith’s attachment to Miss Gracie had formed quickly. She was exactly the type of girl Edith would want for a daughter, and since she was very unlikely to become a mother, she cherished her time with the girl.
“What tea do you prefer?” Mr. McTaggart asked.
She shook her head and chuckled softly. “I don’t really like tea, but I manage to choke it down to be polite.”
Why he cared to ask such insignificant things about her, she couldn’t understand. Only once had a man shown interest in her, and he had turned out to be a black-hearted scoundrel.
Experience suggested she should be wary of any man’s attention, yet common sense reminded her that not all men were like Jimmy Gibb.
Lord Thorne was a good man, and Lavinia’s benefactor was the most generous man Edith had ever met. When Lord St. Ambrose took Lavinia from the brothel and offered her protection, he agreed to support Edith as well, knowing it would make Lavinia happy.
The way Mr. McTaggart treated Lady Thorne, Gracie, and his kinswomen suggested he belonged to the same honorable ilk as these two gentlemen. His actions might be foolish and reckless, but his heart seemed pure.
Mr. McTaggart stood and extended his hand to help her up. “I’ll see you to the drawing room, then continue the search.”
She ignored his hand and returned to rummaging through the trunk before her. “I will stay until they are found, thank you very much.”
He answered with a grunt, this time lacking any hint of annoyance. “Suit yourself.”
When she reached the bottom of the trunk and found nothing but old clothes, Mr. McTaggart returned it to its place and retrieved another from a different stack. He knelt beside her as she lifted the lid.
“This one looks familiar,” he said. “I think this could be the one.”
Edith lifted a wool blanket and uncovered a tangle of skates. “How many are there?”
“Enough for everyone to have a spin around the pond,” Mr. McTaggart replied, “except for Mrs. Mason’s husband, of course.”
Mrs. Mason, Pearl, was another of Lady Thorne’s once-lost sisters.
Approximately a year earlier, Pearl had answered an advertisement to become Mr. Mason’s nurse.
The landowner lost his leg in a farming accident and required a caretaker.
During his long convalescence, Pearl and Mr. Mason fell in love, and they had recently married.
“Pearl’s husband has been fitted with a prosthetic leg,” Edith said, “but I agree that skating is an unlikely activity for him. Perhaps I should speak with Gracie about choosing something everyone can enjoy.”
“A chair will do for the lad.” Mr. McTaggart took out a skate and ran his finger gingerly over the blade. “The men can take turns pushing him about so he won’t have to miss out on the festivities.”
Edith dropped the folded blanket in her lap and smiled. “I think I’ve been too harsh with you, Mr. McTaggart. You are much more considerate than first impressions suggest.”
His wide grin made her heart skip. “You mean for a blasted Scottish oaf?” He dropped the skate back in the trunk and retrieved the blanket from her lap. “You have a stray eyelash. Let me get it for you.”
Leaning close, he brushed the back of his finger across her cheek. She held her breath. If he tried to kiss her again, she wouldn’t have the willpower to resist.
“You’re a decent sort for a Sassenach, too,” he murmured. “Not to mention verra bonnie.”
Bonnie?
The air whooshed from her. His compliment hit her like a bucket of cold water dumped over her head.
Edith was far from pretty. Men rarely paid her much notice.
Her nearly white blonde hair and spectacles were like a cloak, granting her both invisibility and a sense of security at the brothel.
She had never been one of those women who drew in customers, which was why Madam Montgomery had allowed her to hide in the kitchen.
She sprang to her feet. “I should go. As you said, Lady Thorne is likely wondering where I am.”
Hurrying for the door, she didn’t look back. It didn’t matter what he thought of her abrupt departure. She wouldn’t risk her livelihood listening to false flattery. Not again.
Once upon a time, she had lived an honorable life and thrown it all away for a few sweetly whispered odes to her beauty. As a result, she had lost her seamstress position and been evicted from the boarding house.
Now, she was older and wiser, and she wouldn’t risk her position with Lady Thorne by believing Mr. McTaggart’s lies.