He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. “Do you? I doubt it.”
He lowered his head and brought his mouth close to hers. A door suddenly slammed somewhere in the mist ahead of them and, before Rose could respond, before she could think of what to say, Mrs. Duff appeared, clucking toward them like an angry hen. Her bulk swayed with her stride.
Dropping away, Rose turned to face the woman, unsure if the anger in Mrs. Duff’s demeanor was directed at her or the master of the manse.
“Half the staff has been awake awaiting your return, Ruark. Worried sick we’ve been.”
She turned the force of her gaze on Rose. Ruark spoke first. “Before you think the worst of her, Mary, know that she was with me last night.”
Rose felt the blood leave her face. Mary’s eyes narrowed. “And are ye tellin’ me ye ravished the girl, too? Her bein’ helpless and under our protection?”
“I am telling you, her absence was not her fault. And that will be the end of it. Now ... she needs a hot bath and sleep.”
He reached for Rose only to find that Mary stepped between them and removed his hand from her arm. “Aye,she does. But you’ll no’ be the one takin’ her, Ruark Kerr. Off with ye, now. Ye can order your own bath, too.” She waved off Stonehaven’s laird and Rose held her breath, afraid of what he would say to Mary. “Come, lass.” Mary tugged Rose forward. “Let me get ye cleaned up and out of those damp clothes lest you catch your death.”
Just before she entered the portico, Rose stole one last glance over her shoulder at Ruark standing in the wooded path, his gaze fixed on her, the feel of him still lingering in the soreness between her thighs.
Deflected by her own emotions, Rose could not help the softening of her lips as she turned away, remembering their night together, and, oh, so much more.
“Aye, I’ve seen that look in many a young maid’s eye,” Mary said, catching the flicker of awareness in her eyes. “And naught good ever came of it, Lady Roselyn. I assure you.”
The forecourt bustled with activity. Because of the early hour, Rose had not expected to see so many already awake as she and Mrs. Duff emerged outside the walls of the courtyard. Rose followed the housekeeper down a gravel path that wound around a floral border stretching across the south side of the house and on past the kitchen and dovecotes, all the while listening to Mrs. Duff chat. Over the course of the last few days, Rose had accepted life at Stonehaven with no complaint. Breakfast was served at eight, tea at eleven, lunch at one, and so on and so forth. The evenings, she dined in her chambers and later she read in bed. True to his word, Ruark had allowed her free rein of the library and gardens.
“Do I have permission to send letters to the abbey?” Rose asked.
“I see no reason why ye can no’.”
She had written to Friar Tucker, Jack, Sister Nessa, and Mrs. Simpson. She had written to Friar Tucker to tell him that she was well. To the others, she had been more succinct and told them who she was, apologizing for her lack of honesty and asking them to forgive her.
Ruark had left for Jedburgh two days ago and she expected she would be summoned any day now.
The housekeeper stopped and turned, nearly causing Rose to collide with her, and making her wonder if she had said something to displease the woman.
“Ruark told us we were to grant ye every courtesy, and so I will,” the housekeeper said, a hint of steel—though not unkindness—underlying her tone. “Some here resent ye for being who ye are, but I learned long ago no’ to judge a person by the blood running through his veins. After all, we are no’ brought into this world with a choice of parents. So fer that you’ll be findin’ me more tolerant than the rest.”
Thank youseemed incongruous.
“Now ...” Mrs. Duff brushed her hands down the apron pinned to her ample bosom, taking Rose’s measure, as if to say that would be all she’d speak on the matter. She pointed to the side gate. It hung ajar and opened to a wooded path leading into a grove of trees. “That be the way to Mrs. Fortier’s cottage. Ye can no’ miss it.”
With that declaration, Rose was left standing in the middle of the path as Mrs. Duff strode up the incline toward a whitewashed outbuilding. From the pungent aroma of hops and yeast in the air, Rose guessed the place to be the brew house.
Not another person was around.
Suddenly uncertain, Rose glanced back at the large stone manse settled like a throne amid the jeweled landscape.Stonehaven was even larger and grander than she’d first imagined upon her arrival. So different was Ruark’s world from the one in which she’d been raised, she thought.
Mrs. Fortier’s small cottage sat in a glade of dappled sunlight, surrounded by a white picket fence, the kind used to keep rabbits and other critters at bay. Rose eased through the wooden gate and relatched it behind her, looking around her at the earthen mounds overflowing with wintergreen, yellow dock and wild carrot mixed among a colorful array of flowers.
She found Mrs. Fortier at the back in the garden, a red scarf on her head as she knelt among the flowers. She looked up and saw Rose.
Rose ran to her to help her to her feet. “My lady.” Mrs. Fortier dipped when she stood.
“Please, Mrs. Fortier,” Rose said. “You must be careful.”
Mrs. Fortier’s hand went to her chest. “Heavens, every time I see ye, ye give my heart a start. Please call me Anaya.”
“I wanted to meet you. You served my mother.”
“I did, my lady. She was a kind one, she was.”
