The Seduction of Elliot McBride (Mackenzies Series), Page 3

  Elliot ran his hand down her arm to lace his fingers with hers. “Do you want to go home, Juliana?”

  Juliana closed her eyes, breathing in his warmth. “Yes.”

  “Then we go.”

  Without waiting for further argument, Elliot led her down the servants’ staircase and through the kitchen to the back door, where an Indian man in white clothes and turban waited with Juliana’s summer coat and two valises. The Indian man helped Juliana into her wraps without a word and just as silently opened the door and ushered them out of the house.

  The ride to Juliana’s new home took a long time. They boarded a train that chugged slowly north and west, into the heart of the Highlands. In a private compartment, the wife of Elliot’s Indian servant helped Juliana change from her wedding gown into a traveling dress. Her valise proved to have been packed with sensible traveling clothes—Ainsley and Gemma looking after her to the end.

  As they traveled, the day’s remaining clouds broke into tatters before a strong wind, the sun emerging to bathe the world in warmth and glittering raindrops. High summer was coming on, which meant, this far north, the sun would linger well into night.

  At Stirling, they took another train toward the coast, heading north of Dundee toward Aberdeen, where they boarded yet another train on a smaller line. They finally disembarked at a tiny station in a village called Highforth, thirty miles north of Aberdeen, tucked between mountains and the sea. The late afternoon sun silhouetted hills to the west and reflected on the stretch of sea to the east and north.

  The station was nothing but a small building on the side of the track, the platform so short that passengers had to disembark one train car at a time. Elliot and his party were the only ones who descended, in any case.

  Elliot went in search of the stationmaster, leaving his manservant and manservant’s family clustered around Juliana like colorful butterflies. A highland wind blew across the empty platform, swirling the colorful silks of the Indian women’s clothing, the creamy brown skirts of Juliana’s traveling frock, and the bright blue and green plaid of Elliot’s kilt.

  The manservant, Juliana had learned during the journey, was called Mahindar, and he had brought with him from India his wife, Channan, mother, sister-in-law, and a small child who seemed to belong to the sister-in-law.

  Mahindar’s mother calmly tucked a fold of her silk head scarf around her neck, looking neither left nor right as they waited for Elliot. Mahindar’s wife, Channan, plump and cylindrical, her shape emphasized by the narrow skirt and silks that wrapped her body, looked around with more interest. Channan’s younger sister—her half sister, if Juliana understood aright—held the little girl’s hand and shrank into Channan’s side.

  Only Mahindar spoke English, though Channan, he’d said proudly to Juliana, was learning. Channan’s poor widowed sister spoke only a few words of English, and his mother, none at all.

  Elliot, in his kilt, boots, and flyaway coat, was the only one of them who looked as if he belonged in this wild place. While he’d been in India, though, Juliana had heard stories about him going native, as people called it, staunch disapproval in their voices. Elliot had eaten Indian food, worn Indian clothing, and had even taken up with Indian women, it was rumored. He’d spent so much time in the sun that his skin was baked quite brown, and he’d hardly looked Scottish at all anymore.

  Elliot turned and strode back to them, wind lifting the coat from his McBride tartan kilt. If Elliot had gone native in India, he’d certainly changed back to being fully Scots in his homeland.

  “They have no transport,” he announced, no concern in his voice. “A cart is coming from the house to fetch us, but it won’t seat us all. Mahindar, you and your family will have to wait here for it to return.”

  Mahindar nodded without worry. His mother didn’t look worried either as Mahindar translated, and she turned to study the mountains, the sky, and the cluster of buildings that made up the village.

  Channan’s sister—Nandita—when she understood that they would be left behind for a time, chattered something in a terrified voice. She clung, trembling, to Channan, her dark eyes wide.

  “She is afraid soldiers will come to arrest us if we stay here,” Mahindar said. “It is what happened to her husband.”

  “Oh, the poor thing,” Juliana exclaimed. “Mahindar, please explain to her that such things do not happen in Scotland.”

  “I have tried,” Mahindar said in a tone of long-suffering patience. “She does not understand. But we are strangers here, and she cannot know.”

  Juliana held out her hand to Nandita. “She can come with us. We’ll squeeze. We’ll take the little girl too. Come along. I’ll take care of you.”

  Mahindar rapidly translated. Nandita didn’t much like the arrangement of leaving her family behind either, and started to cry.

  Mahindar’s mother snapped two words at her. Nandita dropped Channan’s hand and scuttled to Juliana, dragging the child with her, though silent tears continued to trickle down her face.

  The child, a little girl of about three, seemed undaunted by any of this. She gave Juliana an adorable gap-toothed smile then watched with interest as the dogcart clopped into the yard.

  The cart was driven by a thick-muscled lad with brilliant red hair and a face awash with freckles. He stared with unabashed curiosity at Juliana and Mahindar’s family as he pulled to a halt a foot away from Elliot.

  Elliot helped Juliana and Nandita into the cart’s narrow seats then took the rear one, which would be the muddiest. Nandita had to let go of the little girl to adjust her wind-whipped veils with shaking hands, and Juliana reached for the child.

  She happily climbed into Juliana’s lap, and Juliana closed her arms around her. The little girl had dark hair and brown eyes, and her body was warm as Juliana gathered her up.

  “What’s her name?” Juliana asked Elliot.

  Elliot closed the rear door of the dogcart. “Priti.”

  “Priti.” Juliana tried out the name, and Priti looked up in delight. “Fitting, because she is pretty.”

  “Yes, she is,” Elliot said in all seriousness.

  The cart jerked forward. Mahindar lifted his hand in a wave while his wife and mother continued to look about at their new surroundings.

  What must they think of this place? Juliana had seen photographs and paintings of India, and this isolated corner of Scotland must be vastly different for them—cold woods climbing up high hills, farmers’ fields between mountains and the sea. No slow rivers, elephants, tigers, or jungle.

  Priti gazed around with much more interest than did Nandita. The child’s skin was not as dark as Nandita’s, and strands of brown laced her black hair. Juliana wondered whether the girl’s father had been European, and if that was why Nandita had agreed to leave India with her sister and Mahindar. If her European husband was dead, perhaps Nandita had no one to turn to except Channan.

  But Mahindar had said that Nandita’s husband had been arrested by British soldiers. Puzzling. Juliana would have to pry out the entire story later.

  The dogcart bounced up a steep road paved with broken stones. The road turned to hard earth as they climbed into the hills, the track lined with rocks, heather, and greenery. The sea stretched to the east, sun touched and breathtaking.

  The red-haired lad, who said his name was Hamish McIver, talked at them over his shoulder as he drove.

  “The village is down there, m’lady.” Hamish swiveled in his seat, gesturing with a long whip. “Not much to it, but it does for us. There’s a pub, of course, and a brewery that used to belong to old McGregor. He sold it a few years back to some English people, and Mr. McBride, of course, has bought the house. The McGregors have been in these parts six hundred years, but McGregor’s skint and everyone knows it.”

  The cart listed into the mud on the side of the track, and Nandita made a noise of terror.

  “Watch the road, lad,” Elliot said in a quiet voice.

  Hamish made an adjustment to the reins w
ithout concern. “My great-aunt, old Mrs. Rossmoran, lives down there.” Hamish nodded at a gate that sagged, half open, between two trees. “Half out of her mind she is, with only my cousin, her granddaughter, to look after her. She’ll be expecting a visit from you, m’lady, now that she knows the new laird’s taken a wife.”

  Juliana stared at the gate as it dropped behind them. “Goodness, how does she know? We only married this morning.”

  Hamish grinned over his shoulder. “Came over the stationmaster’s telegraph, didn’t it? Stationmaster’s son found me in the pub and told me, and we had a drink to your health, begging your pardon, m’lady. Someone would have gone out and told my cousin, who was doing her shopping, and she would have run back and told my great-aunt.”

  The cart gave a large heave and dropped over a bump, and Hamish swung to face front again. Nandita squealed, and Juliana cried out with her, but Priti only laughed with the joy of a child.

  They’d gone through an open gate and dropped down a foot from the eroding road to a wooden bridge. Hamish clattered the cart over this, while a river rushed below them in a great freshet.

  Nandita grabbed the side of the cart, her eyes round, her veils fluttering about her face. The cacophony of the wheels on the boards along with the rush of river were loud, but Nandita’s voice rose above them. The young woman looked no older than the lad Hamish himself, perhaps nineteen or so, much younger than her sister, Channan. And she’d already lost a husband. No wonder she was so frightened.

  “It’s all right, lass,” Hamish said as the cart clattered off the bridge. “No need to be afraid of the stream. There’s good fishing there.”

  Nandita’s cries ceased now that they were on solid ground again, but her eyes remained huge.

  “Elliot, can you tell her?” Juliana asked. “Tell her she’s safe.”

  The cart hit a wide hole in the road just then, rocking them all. The latch on the door beside Elliot came open, the door flapping wildly.

  “Elliot!” Juliana cried. She couldn’t lunge for him, because she had Priti, and Nandita was screaming again.

  A less athletic man than Elliot would have been thrown free. Elliot gripped the cart, sinews standing out through his tight leather gloves. He maintained his balance, grabbed the flailing door, and closed and latched it again.

  He turned to Nandita as though nothing remarkable had happened and began speaking to her, unhurried, in a language Juliana knew not one word of. Nandita listened, at last comforted by whatever he said. Her cries wound down, the road quieting as the river dropped behind them.

  They came out of the woods and started downward, the road hugging the side of a steep hill. At the bottom of the hill was wide field of green, bordered by mountains marching in the distance and a sweep of sea far to the east.

  At the end of the road sat the house.

  It was was gigantic. And rambling. And ramshackle, crumbling all over in complete and utter disrepair.

  Juliana put her hand to her throat, half rising in her seat. “Oh, Elliot,” she said.

  Chapter 3

  Five stories of house shot straight upward from a rectangular base, the wall covered with a fantastic arrangement of crenellations, windows, arrow slits, and little round towers that swelled out from unexpected places. A mansard roof, punctuated with tiny dormer windows, rose high into the sky.

  This wasn’t a medieval castle. It was a wealthy man’s fantasy, built to impress the neighbors—a fairy-tale castle. Except that now the fairy-tale castle was a hundred and more years old, crumbling, stained, and moss covered, windows broken, bricks from the roof littering the yard before it like gray snow. The clearing that had looked immense during the drive down the hill now revealed that it once had been twice that size, with new-growth woods invading the previously extensive park and gardens.

  Hamish stopped the cart close to the house, the horse stepping carefully around the fallen stones. Elliot opened the cart’s rear door and stepped down. He surveyed the colossus with his hands on his hips, a new light in his eyes. He looked…satisfied.

  Hamish leapt to the ground from his high seat, and the mare lowered her head and started cropping grass. Elliot turned to help Juliana out of the cart, his hand warm in the cooling evening air.

  Nandita took longer to climb down, fearful of putting her foot on the little step, even with Elliot to steady her. Finally Hamish reached past Elliot, slung one arm around Nandita’s body, and lifted her to the ground.

  Nandita stared at Hamish in complete shock and brought up her veils to cover her face.

  “Hamish, lad,” Elliot said in a quiet voice. “An Indian woman is not to be touched by anyone outside the family.” His tone was stern, but the look he gave Hamish was almost amused. “It could be the death of you.”

  Hamish’s eyes rounded. “Oh aye? Sorry.” He looked at Nandita and said in a loud, slow voice, “Sorry, miss.”

  “She’s widowed,” Elliot said. He reached for Priti and swung her down from the cart. “Not a miss.”

  Hamish’s voice got louder. “Beg your pardon, ma’am.” He left her and climbed hastily back to the driver’s seat. “I don’t want to cause no one’s death. Especially not mine.”

  He turned the dogcart and slapped the horse into a fast trot, careening back out of the clearing. The cart slipped and slid on the narrow track as Hamish drove up the hill, the wheels rocking perilously close to the edge.

  The front door was not locked, and Elliot pushed it open. The vestibule beyond was empty, its once-ornate ceiling covered with cobwebs. Muddy boots, likely Hamish’s, had tracked the flagstone floor as recently as today.

  Elliot walked inside and opened the door on the other end of the vestibule to the house proper. The top half of the vestibule door held stained glass, but the glass was now so grimy that every pane was black.

  The inside of the house was much worse than the outside. In addition to the dust hanging thickly in the air, the walls were coated with cobwebs, and the grand staircase, winding upward from the great hall, was missing spindles and stair treads. A chandelier, a giant of a thing, all its candles gone, hung from a thick chain down through the middle of the open staircase.

  Doors led from the great hall to rooms both large and small. Juliana glanced inside a few, seeing that some contained furniture covered in dust sheets, others no furniture at all. The grimy windows and waning light made the house darker, and Juliana tripped.

  Elliot instantly steadied her. Juliana caught his arm, finding it hard as steel under his coat. “Good heavens, Elliot, what on earth made you purchase this house?”

  “Uncle McGregor needed the money,” Elliot said. “I didn’t mind helping him out. I stayed here off and on as a boy. Always had a fondness for the place.” He looked up the staircase. “I had Hamish fix up a bedchamber for us. Shall we go find it?”

  Priti darted around them for the staircase, Nandita calling out desperately to her. Elliot stepped into the little girl’s path and swung her onto his shoulder, saying, “Uuup we go.”

  The child’s English seemed to be better than Nandita’s. She clapped her hands. “Yes, yes. Up!”

  Elliot took the stairs to the next floor, in no way unbalanced by his burden. Juliana followed, watching anxiously, but the stairs were solid. The entire house was very…solid. Nandita came close behind Juliana, and thus they all ascended.

  On the first floor, Elliot walked around the gallery and headed down a wide hall. This house had once been very grand, with high, ornamented ceilings and intricate carving on dadoes and cornices. Elliot started opening doors, revealing more furniture under dust sheets like crouching gray humps. The fourth door he opened finally emitted light and warmth.

  A fire danced on a brick hearth of an old-fashioned fireplace, the most cheerful thing Juliana had seen since entering the house. A massive bed stood in the middle of the floor, rather than against a wall, the mattress a bit sagging, but at least it was whole, and covered with a clean quilt. The floor had no carpet nor the be
d any hangings—nor did the windows have drapes—but compared to the rest of the house, the room was palatial.

  Before Juliana could step inside the welcoming room, a door banged open down the hall. Nandita shrieked, and even Priti let out a squeak of alarm.

  A stentorian voice roared down the passage at them. “What th’ devil are ye doing in my house? Get out, the lot o’ you. I have a gun, and it’s loaded.”

  The small, wiry, elderly man who strode into the hall did indeed have a shotgun in his hands, and he stared down its long barrel at them. He had a white beard and thick sideburns, and from this hairy face blazed dark eyes with plenty of life in them.

  “I’ll shoot you, I tell ye. A man’s allowed to defend his own household.”

  “Uncle McGregor,” Elliot said in a loud voice. “It’s Elliot. I’ve brought my wife.”

  The man lowered the gun but didn’t put it down entirely. “Och, so it is you, lad. Thought it might be burglars. This is herself, then? Little Juliana St. John?” Mr. McGregor came down the hall toward them. A kilt hung on the small man’s bony hips, topped with a loose shirt and a tweed coat that had seen better days. “I knew your granddad, lass. Last time I saw you was at your christening. You yelled the church down. Far too loud for a girl child, but then your mother was a madwoman.”

  Juliana choked back the first retort on her lips. He was elderly, she reminded herself, with the bluntness of the old. And he did still have the shotgun. “How are you, Mr. McGregor?” she managed.

  “I’m sixty-nine years old, young woman. How do you think I am?” McGregor looked past Juliana to the terrified Nandita hiding behind her. “Ye’ve brought your natives back with ye this time, then?”

  “You’ll like them,” Elliot said. “My manservant is a fine cook.”

  “Cook, eh?” McGregor kept staring at Nandita, who was trying to shrink into Juliana. “That reminds me, I’m hungry. Where’s that blasted lad with my supper?”

  “Hamish has gone back to the station to fetch my manservant and the rest of his family. And our baggage, with any luck.”