Chapter Three #2
‘Lady Caitrin. Grizel. It is my honour to make your acquaintance. I come as a stranger to you and your clan, so it is with much gratitude that I thank you for taking me in as your guest.’
‘Och! Such a wee, sweet lass ye be,’ said Caitrin. ‘’Tis our great pleasure to have ye here. That ye would make the long journey is something to be admired. ’Tis not all young English ladies who’d feel safe, let alone have the desire to set foot in the Highlands.’
Helene pretended a sense of enthusiasm. ‘Agnes has always extolled the wonderous beauty of the Highlands so much as to make me want to see it for myself. As for my safety?’ She tipped her head at the man beside her and affected a smile of appreciation.
‘I needn’t worry on that account. Your son has solemnly sworn to protect and keep me safe. ’
‘Lachlan is a man of his word.’ Caitrin laid a possessive hand on his arm. ‘Isn’t that right, son?’
‘Aye.’ He looked pointedly at Helene. ‘As long as the lady trusts and abides by the laws of the realm, then her safety is guaranteed.’
‘Perhaps then,’ ventured Helene, intent on holding his gaze, ‘you might, this evening, take a moment to sit with me and fully explain these laws of the realm. I’m in unfamiliar territory, and I wouldn’t wish to step outside the mark. At least, not intentionally.’
The laird studied her with quiet regard. ‘Aye. ’Twould be in yer best interest.’ He looked skyward and squinted against the fall of light rain. ‘Well then. Best we all move inside before this drizzle becomes a downpour.’
As the MacLanoch matriarch lifted her skirts to turn and do as her son had suggested, Helene could have sworn she caught just the hint of a smile on the older woman’s lips. Certainly, before Caitrin had lowered her lashes, there’d been a tinge of amusement in her kind, shrewd eyes.
Helene mused over the point as she went with the women inside. The laird and his cousin followed behind, conversing in hushed Gaelic. That was something else she pondered, curious about the nature of their exchange, what with Cuthbert sounding jovial and the laird, terse.
Helene glanced around the tower’s ground-floor entrance. Weaponry, mounted stag heads, and intricate tapestries depicting hunting scenes adorned the interior stone walls. A wide staircase dominated the centre of the room and led to the first floor.
On the wall at the top of the stairs was a pair of three-quarter-length portraits.
The first caused Helene to draw in a sharp breath.
It had to be Lachlan’s late father, dressed in full traditional Highland regalia.
He looked proud, commanding. So striking in looks was Lachlan’s resemblance to his sire that it held Helene in awe.
The woman in the portrait to the right smiled down at her. The same serene smile to have greeted Helene moments earlier. Caitrin MacLanoch. Just as elegantly dressed in person as was breathtakingly immortalised in pigmented oils in the ornate gold-framed painting.
‘He might look fearsome, lass, and indeed he was,’ whispered Caitrin to Helene, ‘but he was the fairest of men with a good, kind heart. Just like my Lachlan.’
Helene acknowledged Caitrin’s comment with a smile.
How else could she be expected to respond?
She had no first-hand knowledge of the late laird’s character, nothing by which to draw an accurate comparison with his son.
How could she tell Caitrin, if the woman did not already know, that her son’s byname among the ladies of London’s elite was the Scoundrel Scot?
Was his womanising a learned behaviour passed from father to son?
What wife and mother could be proud of that?
The shame of it! Better Caitrin be left in the dark about her son’s rakish reputation.
It was not for Helene to wound the feelings of a doting widow and mother.
‘Gather round,’ said Caitrin, taking her sister’s hand in hers.
‘Ye and Agnes will remember the way to yer bedchambers.’ She looked pointedly at Grizel.
‘Lass, be a dear and accompany Lady Helene to her chambers. Refreshments and belongings will be sent directly to each of ye. Ye’ll all have time to rest a wee bit before the evening meal. ’
Lady Sutton said, ‘If I’ve a mind for conversation before the meal, will ye be up to welcoming me in yer private quarters?’
‘Aye, Elspeth. That I will. Lord knows I’ve been craving yer company for more months than I can count.’
Helene had taken an instant liking to Caitrin. She was all grace and poise and spoke with a humble heart. These sisters, twins, demonstrated a connection born of sibling love and respect. Such a pity that so many miles separated one from the other.
Cuthbert executed a bow. ‘If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll go directly to the library and write to Father. He’ll want to know we’ve arrived safely at Drumocher.’ His eyes came to rest on Helene. ‘With your permission, I’ll do likewise in writing post-haste to your father.’
‘Thank you, Cuthbert. Please let him know I’ll write to him in due course. Once I’m settled.’
He favoured her with an obliging smile in reply. A smile reserved only for one of intimate acquaintance. She knew it to be a mask worn to conceal the deceit of his true intentions. A deliberate act to goad his cousin as if he, Cuthbert, was making progress in their rakish rivalry.
Helene was at once embarrassed by his public show of false affection and schooled her expression to show no more than gratitude for his offer to write to her father.
Guilt, and only guilt, caused a blush to heat Helene’s cheeks.
She prayed the prevailing silence was not evidence of her blush being otherwise ill-interpreted by those in the room.
Cuthbert climbed the staircase and disappeared into a corridor. Damn the man!
Lady Sutton gave a polite cough and declared, ‘I could do with a cup of tea.’ Her face suddenly lit up as it does when one remembers something joyous.
‘In my luggage there is a tea chest. Indian tea, I might add. Imported by the East India Company. A gentleman who goes by the name of Thomas Twining sells London’s finest. Dearest sister, shall we have ourselves a long-overdue blether over a cup of tea? ’
Caitrin laughed, the sound richly melodic and pleasing to Helene’s ear. ‘Ye have indeed adopted the ways of the Sassenachs, Elspeth. Of course I’ll share yer tea, but if it’s not to my liking, then a dram of whisky will doubtless improve its flavour tenfold.’
Lady Sutton’s look of horror drew a laugh from her family and Helene.
Caitrin winked at her sister. ‘The fever might have temporarily stripped me of strength, but it willnae stop me from teasing ye.’
Lady Sutton blew out a breath. ‘I should have kenned ye’d tease me so.’
‘Aye,’ laughed Caitrin. She gestured the ladies away. ‘Now off ye go. Make yerselves comfortable, and should ye require anything, the servants will assist ye.’
Helene chanced to look at the laird and found him staring at her. She felt instantly warm, if not strangely uncomfortable beneath his lingering scrutiny.
As if sensing her disquiet, Caitrin came to her rescue, softly reclaiming her son’s attention. ‘Lachlan, I’ll need yer arm for support. Will ye see me to my private quarters?’
‘Aye. Gladly.’
He gave Helene a courteous nod, via way of excusing himself, and went to his mother’s side. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and together they ascended the staircase. Lady Sutton and Agnes followed, with Helene and Grizel at the rear.
Helene touched her hand to the ornately carved wooden banister. Well-worn it might be, but its polished shine stood as testimony to the immaculate upkeep of her surrounds.
The laird and his mother branched right along the landing at the top of the stairs and into a corridor towards another stairwell. The company of ladies broke left along the landing, where another stone stairwell awaited them.
Helene paused for a moment directly in front of the late laird’s portrait.
His straight nose, strong chin, and the determined set of his jaw were not the only physical attributes he’d passed down to his son.
She might as well have been looking at Lachlan thirty years from now, for the same penetrating golden-brown eyes stared back at her. Did those same eyes see through her?
She prayed not.