Page 37 of Lyon of Scotland
“What! That is blackmail!”
“Oh, aye. A Scottish term, and so fitting. I can easily prove my innocence, so Dove’s threat does not alarm me as much as he hopes. But as your husband, I can erase your debt and protect you.”
“I do not need protection—” Well, perhaps she did, but she did not want him to feel that responsibility.
“Even better, I can eliminate the debt entirely by taking him to court—or threatening him with that until he cancels the debt. That has a certain appeal.”
She stepped back. “You must not take all this on for my sake.” She turned away so quickly that her head spun, and she set a hand to the back of a chair. Strathburn took her elbow.
“Go easy. You are still recovering.”
“I am fine. But you must think of Lord Lyon’s reputation.”
“No harm will come to that office, my position, or to you either. I am determined in that.”
“Why do this when you hardly know me?” She set a hand on his arm.
“I promised your father to look after you, and went too far when we were alone.”
“You did not. And I did not—I did not mind.” She smiled a little, shy and rueful. “I feel there is still something you have not told me.”
“Truthfully, I cannot bear to see you treated this way by Dove, or anyone.”
She nodded, touched and grateful. “Is there more?” She hoped so, sensed so.
“Those eyes see into me, I think.” He reached out to sift a tendril of hair off her brow. “I care deeply about you, aye? It began long ago in your father’s dining room.”
He truly cared—she felt it surge through her somehow. “Dining room?” She tucked her brows together, wondering, then knew. “Last summer? Or perhaps earlier?”
“Two years ago, when an elfin girl approached a lonely and miserable Highlander to ask if he preferred strawberry or rowan jam, or wanted clotted cream or butter on his scones. Then she handed him a cup of hot tea with sugar, a plate of perfect scones, and stayed to make small talk when his tongue was tied and his spirit was low.”
“That was the first time we met. Papa had invited friends for tea, and you came with Sir Walter. I remember the jam and scones. And I could never forget you,” she added. Her heart thumped.
She had fallen in love that very day, a sweet infatuation completely unrequited, or so she thought. What he told her now was a revelation: He had noticed her too.
“I visited your father’s house that day, but I had not attended a social gathering in a long while. I was avoiding people, keeping to myself. I live in the Highlands—I will show you my home there soon—and I come often to Edinburgh for my work in the heraldry office. That day, Walter Scott brought me with him. Insisted. I imagine I was a bit grouchy.”
She tilted her head. “I thought you reserved, not grumpy. Intriguing.”
“I was brokenhearted, to be honest.”
“Oh dear,” she breathed.
“I was betrothed before I left the country with the Black Watch regiment—same unit as Linhope, in fact. While I was away, my fiancée died of a fever.”
“Oh dear.” She set a hand to her heart. “I did not know.”
“Nor would you. She was a kindhearted lass. We had grown up together in the Highlands. I was never sure the match was right, but it suited at the time.”
“I am sure she was lovely.”
“She was, and nothing against her. But I was—grieving her, and felt lost, I suppose, when I visited your home that evening. Then you came over to me and were sweet and gracious. You rather saved me. A little kindness and caring from a fairy-like creature. That was the magic I needed to step forward again, I think.”
“Just that? It was not much.”
“It was more than that. It was you. I see it more clearly now. It was you.”
For me, it was you too.The truth of it went through her like a shock, so that she set a hand to the chair for balance. That quiet, handsome, dark-eyed Highlander in a frock coat and kilt who preferred strawberry jam and butter on scones had begun to walk through her dreams ever since.
