Chapter Six
Heathcliff watched the horizon, anticipating the next curve in the road that would lend the first view of Kilmarin. As the bays rounded the bend, a smile broke across his face at the bloody wonderful sight.
Settled against the rolling hills, the Kilmarin estate grew larger with each step of the horses. It was a bitter yet sweet sight.
One that reminded him that freedom was never free.
But it was worth every penny.
Already, he could hear Mrs. Keyes’s gentle scolding, and taste the haggis and biscuits made by his cook, Mrs. Mertle. His mouth watered. The only damper on his peace of mind was the expectation that he’d need to meet and engage in conversation with his unwanted ward.
And the bloody governess.
There was no way but through it, so he was determined to accomplish the unsavory task as quickly as possible and then avoid them both like the black plague.
He took a deep breath of Scottish country air and watched as the horses took the turn into the Kilmarin courtyard. The large stone building had been in his family for generations. Of all the places he had ever been, it was the only place he called home.
The carriage halted before the front entrance, and Heathcliff tugged his gloves into place and waited for the footman to open the carriage door. His boots crunched on the gravel as a wide smile spread across his face as he met the warm welcome of Mrs. Keyes.
“Milord! It’s a pleasure to have you home at last!” The grandmotherly woman’s green eyes twinkled with delight as she gave a slight curtsey.
“None o’ that, Mrs. Keyes. You dinna lower yourself when I was a wee one, you needn’t do it now.” Heathcliff grinned at the warm reception, his body relaxing.
“We’ve ladies, Lord Kilpatrick. I’m setting a good example, that I am,” she answered with a sassy tone.
Heathcliff grinned in spite of the reminder of the two ladies in residence. “Ach, and what do you think of the lasses?” he asked in a teasing tone, though he was honestly curious. Mrs. Keyes would be kind, but she wouldn’t not mince words. He paused before the older woman.
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. No doubt you’re expecting a harridan.” She arched a gray brow even as her lips quirked into a grin.
“Possibly,” Heathcliff answered, glancing into the distance, then turning back to her.
“The only harridan you’ll find here is the one you’ll see in the mirror,” Mrs. Keyes sassed, a familiar Scottish lilt to her words and a welcoming smile teasing her wrinkled face.
Heathcliff chuckled. “I knew the pretense of your good manners wouldn’t last long.”
“Ach, they are in the house. They can’t hear my words, just see my actions,” she replied, dropping her words to a whisper.
“You always were a sly one.”
“It’s why you couldn’t get away with anything.” Mrs. Keyes batted the air with her hand as she started toward the entrance to the house.
Heathcliff followed her up the stairs, a smile tipping his lips at the familiarity that washed over him with each step. “You always knew what shenanigans I was attempting.”
“You weren’t as sly as you thought,” she said in a huff.
He paused as he nodded to his longtime butler, then glanced around.
Home.
\It was bloody lovely to be home. As he followed Mrs. Keyes down the hall, he smirked as she glared at the suit of armor, then cast an irritated glance at him before continuing on her way. “I’m assumin’ you’re a wee bit hungry.”
“You’d be assuming correctly,” Heathcliff replied.
“Figured as much. Cook has been in a dither, trying to anticipate when you’d return. She baked treacle tart on a whim you’d be here today.”
“God bless her.” Heathcliff could almost taste the hint of lemon in the tart, surrounded by the shortbread crust that was amazing. Scotland and shortbread: it was a match made in heaven.
And it was only a few short steps away.
