Chapter 7
The next evening found Oscar seated at the desk in his study.
He squared the stack of correspondence against the edge, though every sheet had already been aligned.
One corner still seemed out of place, and he adjusted it with his thumb.
Then he closed the household ledger and moved Tommy’s carved horse from beside the inkpot to the far end of the desk.
The toy had appeared there three days before. Oscar could have sent it back to the nursery. Instead, the crude little beast had remained among accounts that governed rents, winter stores, and the repair of the eastern wall.
He opened the ledger again. A column of figures waited beneath his hand.
He read the first entry twice without absorbing its meaning.
His body retained a pleasant heaviness from the training yard, despite the bath and clean clothes.
It also retained a sharper memory of Ceana standing among his warriors and looking at his bare chest.
She had made no effort to conceal her attention, and her gaze had followed a bead of sweat down his stomach before lifting to his face. He had enjoyed that look enough to resent her for giving it to him where his men might notice.
Her accusation had proved harder to dismiss.
His children lacked nothing. Paisley had tutors and suitable companions whenever she desired them. Tommy had guards, warm clothes, and discipline applied as consistently as he allowed. Both would inherit security few children possessed.
But none of that accounted for how often Oscar sat with them.
A cacophony of voices rose beyond the door. Tommy’s voice carried clearly, followed by Ceana’s lower reply and Paisley’s attempt to quiet them both. Oscar had barely risen when the door opened.
Ceana entered as if the study belonged to any person bold enough to cross its threshold. Tommy followed with two cushions clutched against his chest, and Paisley came last, closing the door carefully behind her. Her eyes moved from Oscar to Ceana as she waited for one of them to send her away.
“We have come for the first family hour,” Ceana announced.
“I didnae agree to one.”
“Ye also failed to refuse, so…”
Oscar looked at Tommy, who had already dropped the cushions before the fireplace. Paisley remained near the door.
Disappointment would push Tommy toward louder methods of seeking attention. Paisley, as he had been made aware, would accept dismissal without protest and remember every moment of it.
Ceana watched him with infuriating serenity. She understood the position in which she had placed him.
“One hour,” he acquiesced.
Tommy cheered and threw himself onto a cushion. Paisley crossed the study more slowly. She sat near her brother only after Oscar left the desk and took the chair facing them.
Ceana settled on the second cushion, arranging her dress beside the fire. “We shall ask questions. Each person may ask one of anyone present. Refusal requires a forfeit.”
“What sort of forfeit?” Oscar asked.
“One chosen by Tommy.”
That seemed to please the boy immensely.
Tommy pointed at him. “Have ye ever lost a fight?”
Oscar sighed and nodded. “Aye.”
The boy’s mouth fell open. Ceana looked equally interested, though she hid it by smoothing her dress.
“Every man who fights long enough loses,” Oscar elaborated. “The clever ones learn why.”
“Who struck ye?” Tommy asked.
“Ye have used yer question.”
Tommy folded his arms. His displeasure lasted until Paisley turned toward Ceana.
“Do ye really mean to stay after the weddin’?” she asked.
Oscar glanced at his daughter. She kept her hands folded in her lap, yet one thumb pressed hard into the other.
Ceana gave the question the attention she might have given a clan elder. “I daenae make promises lightly. I agreed to become part of this household, and I intend to honor that agreement.”
Paisley’s fingers loosened before Ceana asked what she enjoyed when no task had been set for her. Paisley hesitated before admitting that she liked music and stories about distant places.
“Stories are dull unless there is a battle,” Tommy commented.
“Yer sister was speakin’, sweetness.” Ceana’s admonition carried no anger. “Ye may disagree when it is yer turn.”
Tommy closed his mouth.
Oscar was so shocked by the boy’s response that he had not noticed Ceana turn her green eyes on him. “What makes ye laugh?”
He blinked, searching for an answer, and found only the duties that filled his days. “There is little about clan business that amuses me.”
“That is a refusal,” Tommy declared. “Ye owe a forfeit.”
“Ness makes Faither laugh,” Paisley stated softly.
“She doesnae.”
“She ate one of yer letters,” Tommy said. “Ye laughed when Lennan tried to pull it out of her mouth.”
Oscar remembered Lennan pursuing the goat around the courtyard while half the guards pretended not to watch. A sound had escaped him before he could prevent it.
Ceana burst into laughter, the sound filling the study. Her head tipped back, and a strip of firelight caught her throat. Oscar found himself watching her instead of correcting his children. It was the most fascinating thing, just how her warmth reached every corner he had kept orderly.
“Can ye dance?” Tommy asked her.
“I can.”
“Paisley cannae.”
Paisley flushed. “Some of us have it hard, alright? I cannae step on people’s feet.”
A light silence fell over the four of them as Oscar took another glance at Ceana. However, it was clear she would not let it last.
“Every good dancer once stepped on someone’s feet,” she said, rising. “Come, I shall show ye.”
She placed Paisley’s hand correctly and adjusted the girl’s shoulders with gentle fingers. When Paisley stumbled through a turn, Ceana slowed down and steadied her.
After several attempts, Paisley completed the step. Her small smile hit Oscar somewhere beneath the ribs.
“She needs to see the whole dance,” Tommy declared. “Faither can do the man’s part.”
Nay. Nay, nay, nay.
Oscar coughed, knowing very well where this was going. “I daenae think I have the time because of work and—”
Tommy’s face fell. Paisley lowered her gaze, though she had been standing straighter a moment earlier. Ceana said nothing. She merely waited beside the fire with one hand extended toward the girl.
Oscar rose before he had properly decided to move.
He stopped in front of Ceana and offered his hand.
She studied it for a moment. Perhaps she remembered how their palms had clung together when they had made the bargain in this room.
When she accepted his hand, the warmth of her skin seeped into his fingers.
Paisley began humming a familiar tune. Oscar set his other hand on Ceana’s waist. Her gown yielded beneath his palm, allowing him to feel the shape beneath the fabric. He kept the first steps formal and measured.
“Turn on the next count,” he said.
“I ken when to turn.”
“Then why are ye waitin’?”
“To see whether ye can lead without issuin’ commands.”
Tommy snickered as Oscar guided Ceana into the turn. Her skirts brushed his boots, and she returned to him with flawless timing. Her hand settled more securely in his as he drew her through the next figure, conscious of her warmth and the light pressure of her body following his direction.
Paisley’s tune grew steadier, and Ceana lifted her face as Oscar turned her again. Her breath fanned his jaw when she came close, and her lips parted as his palm tightened on her waist.
He completed another step before realizing that the humming had stopped and the door closed with a sharp click, followed by the sound of the key turning in the lock. Tommy had vanished, along with Paisley. Oscar remained with Ceana’s hand in his and her waist beneath his palm.
First, he released her gently. Her warmth left his palm, and his fingers tightened once against the emptiness before he crossed to the door.
The handle would not budge. He tried it again, then pressed his ear to the wood and listened. A smothered laugh came from the corridor.
“Tommy!”
“The key is on the hook, Faither,” Tommy called. “Anyone passin’ by can let ye out.”
“Bring it here.”
The sound of footsteps pattered over the stone in response.
“Tommy, we shouldnae leave them long,” Paisley whispered from further down the corridor.
Tommy answered too quietly for Oscar to hear. Soon enough, both sets of footsteps retreated.
Behind him, Ceana drew a breath that trembled at the end. He turned and noticed that she had pressed her lips together, though the corners kept lifting. Her cheeks had reddened from the dance, and several dark strands had loosened near her temples.
“Ye find this amusin’.”
“A little.” Her composure broke, and she covered her mouth. “He left the key where someone could find it. Ye have to admit that was thoughtful.”
“He has trapped servants in the linen cupboard twice. Last month, he locked Lennan in a storage chamber.”
Ceana lowered her hand. “Did Lennan find it amusin’?”
“He threatened to send Tommy to the kitchens to scrub pots.”
“Did Tommy scrub them?”
Oscar didn’t take a beat. “He hid the brushes.”
A laugh escaped Ceana, and Oscar’s lips twitched before he could prevent it.
The boy had outdone himself this time. His usual tricks involved trapping one unsuspecting victim. Locking two people together required a different purpose.
“Daenae laugh where he can hear ye,” Oscar muttered. “Ye will encourage him. But then I wouldnae mind this particular trick bein’ repeated.”
The study fell quiet. Ceana’s laughter faded. She stood several paces away, still flushed, her chest rising faster than the dance required. Her gaze moved over his face before settling on his mouth.
Oscar became aware of every inch between them. The rhythm of the dance remained in his body, along with the curve of her waist beneath his palm. Sudden privacy stripped away the restraint demanded by his children’s presence, and his manhood pressed hard against the front of his breeches.
Ceana must not see it.
He turned toward the desk and walked behind it, grateful for the broad panel of oak that concealed him. “Whisky?”