Chapter Seventeen #3
Helene cleared her throat. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She shifted the focus from herself to Lady Sutton seated on her left. ‘Lead with the first card when you’re ready.’
‘Hmm,’ said Elspeth, frowning at the fanned cards in her hand. ‘Ye did indeed shuffle these cards well, lass. Give me a moment longer.’
Helene sent another fleeting glance in Caitrin’s direction, relieved to see Drumocher’s matriarch studying her book and not Helene.
While waiting for Lady Sutton to start the round, Helene’s mind slipped back to last night, pondering what Lachlan might have discussed with his mother in her chambers.
No doubt Aila’s brooch was the topic of choice, and Helene could not let go of its intrigue.
Why did the family make such a fuss of it?
‘Helene, ’tis yer turn.’
This time it was Grizel’s voice to draw Helene back to the present. Helene made a quick study of three cards lying in a pile in the centre of the table, and since she could not best the jack of spades, she played her lowest card in that suit.
Lady Sutton won the trick and placed the cards in front of her. ‘There,’ she said with a triumphant grin to Grizel. ‘Ye and I are off to a flying start.’
Three more rounds saw Helene and Agnes lose to their opposing team. Helene gave Agnes an apologetic expression, to which Agnes sighed and said, ‘Our fate depends on the turn of a card.’
The next round began with the queen of hearts, which pleased Helene no end. ‘Aha! At last.’ She laughed and looked at Agnes across the table from her. ‘Finally, fate sees fit to smile upon us.’ She played the final card and trumped the trick with the king of hearts.
‘Lachlan!’ exclaimed Caitrin. ‘Where have ye been?’
Helene’s laughter died in her throat when she looked up to see Lachlan enter the drawing room. Long, confident strides brought him to stand at his mother’s side and rest a hand on her shoulder.
‘Mother,’ he said to her with a nod.
Warmth spread from Helene’s toes to her cheeks.
He looked every bit the wild Scottish laird with his shoulder-length hair, windswept as if having ridden his horse at breakneck speed across the moors.
His linen shirt was open at the neck, and suddenly Helene fought the desire to go to him and plant a kiss where his lifeblood pulsed at the base of his throat.
Her gaze drifted and drank him in, from his right shoulder to his left, across the broad expanse of his chest, right down to the belted plaid resting on lean hips.
She reached for the water to quench her parched mouth and glanced up at him over the rim of the glass.
The slow smile he bestowed on her said he’d read and understood every nuance of her hungry reaction to him.
A reaction she hoped only he had perceived, but when his solicitous smile reached his eyes, the other women turned their curious attention on Helene.
Her gaze dropped to the table, and she scooped up the four-card trick, stacking them face down in front of her. She then studied the remaining cards in her hand. For every second the silence stretched, Helene’s cheeks grew hot from embarrassment.
‘Well?’ Caitrin said, a tinge of amusement in her voice. ‘What has kept ye and Cuthbert from us this morning?’
Helene let out a silent breath, pleased to think Lachlan was now the centre of attention.
‘I had to settle a grievance between two clansmen beyond the castle walls, and Cuthbert agreed to join me for the early-morning ride.’
‘And where is Cuthbert now?’ Lady Sutton enquired.
‘Right here, Mother.’
Helene’s gaze flew from her cards to Cuthbert.
He walked into the room with a cheerful disposition, dressed in a linen shirt, neckcloth, waistcoat, and jacket.
Buckskin trimmed the inner leg of his tartan trews, and leather brogues adorned his feet.
His fair hair was brushed back from his forehead and tied at the nape with a black silk ribbon.
Caitrin MacLanoch cast an appreciative eye over her nephew. ‘Good to see ye advocating yer Scottish heritage.’
Cuthbert bowed. ‘When they are at Rome, they do there as they see done.’
Grizel clapped loudly. ‘Quoted from Robert Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy.’
Lachlan was not the only one to look at her with wide-eyed surprise. ‘I’m impressed, sister. I see ye’ve been making use of our extensive library.’
‘Aye,’ she beamed. ‘That I have, and for longer than ye ken.’
‘Then perhaps we both might spend time together to discuss which books ye prefer to read.’
‘Philosophy,’ she said without hesitation. ‘And aye, that would be nice.’
Lachlan’s new-found admiration for his sister shone clear in his eyes. Helene found it a joy to watch ever since Grizel had stood up for herself after admonishing her brother the day of the picnic. The siblings appeared to share a deeper respect for each other.
Helene was unsure as to whether the same could be said between Lachlan and Cuthbert.
She made a surreptitious study of each man, searching for any sign of angst or animosity between them.
Outwardly, they appeared to be on good terms; however, the bruise marring Cuthbert’s left cheek begged the question his mother now asked.
‘Good Lord! What happened to yer face?’
‘Well! Discussions between the two fractious clansmen turned physical. Unfortunately, one man’s fist was faster than my reflexes, and I caught a blow to the cheek.’ Cuthbert shrugged. ‘They soon sorted their differences and walked away friends, albeit me coming off the worse for wear.’
Lachlan added, ‘Serves ye right for stepping into the fray.’
‘Quite so, cousin. Quite so.’
‘Men!’ Lady Sutton scoffed in disgust and threw down her cards on the table.
Helene did not believe Cuthbert’s explanation, given his conspiratorial tone.
‘Ladies, our time is now yers,’ announced Lachlan. ‘Are ye happy to see out the day indoors, or’—Lachlan’s eyes lit on Helene—‘would ye care to discover more of Drumocher’s surrounding woodlands and secret caves?’
Only Helene understood the hidden suggestion in Lachlan’s invitation.
Its effect on her triggered the fluttering of her heart, and liquid heat pooled between her legs.
Under any other circumstances, she’d have shamelessly jumped at the opportunity, but instead she kept silent, lowering her gaze to reshuffle her cards lest any of the women read the desire she felt for Lachlan mirrored in her eyes.
Concern and fraught nerves resurfaced over how best to bow out gracefully from her summer sojourn in the Highlands.
‘I confess I’m quite content to stay put for the moment,’ said Agnes. ‘Perhaps later I might do as Auntie Caitrin suggested and have a braw clansman sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the sunset.’
Grizel giggled.
Lady Sutton scoffed again.
Lachlan threw his mother a dark, questioning look.
‘Ye ken ’tis not what I suggested at all, dear niece. What I meant was—’
‘I know, Auntie,’ laughed Agnes. ‘I was just teasing you.’
A sharp rap on the drawing room door had all eyes turn to see a servant holding a silver salver upon which lay an envelope. Lachlan nodded permission for the man to enter the room. He proffered the tray to Lachlan, who took the envelope in hand and eyed the inked handwriting naming the addressee.
‘When did this arrive?’ he asked the servant.
‘Just now, my lord. Both messenger and horse were a lather of sweat.’
Helene’s ears pricked up at this. The messenger must have ridden post-haste to deliver what could only be an urgent letter. The servant bowed and exited the room.
‘Well? Who is it for?’ said Caitrin.
Lachlan’s gaze slid to Helene.
Helene’s heart lurched and worry churned her gut.
He passed her the envelope, and she saw it was indeed addressed to her.
Though she recognised the handwriting, it was written in such a way as to give her pause.
In place of the usual controlled and steady script, it reflected duress in the person’s state of mind, evidenced by the shaky penmanship and irregular size of each letter, an inconsistency in connecting strokes, and the unequal pressure in upward and downward strokes.
She flipped the envelope over to see the wax seal bearing the impression of a familiar signet ring. ‘It’s from my father.’
Lady Sutton smiled and nodded reassuringly. ‘No doubt he’s missing ye, lass.’
Helene excused herself from the card table for a moment’s privacy to open and read the letter.
She moved to stand by the window, acutely aware of the silence at her back.
Her thumb slid beneath the seal, and a deep breath did nothing to calm her nerves.
With jittery fingers, she unfolded the missive.