Chapter 5

5

L ewis had tried in vain to wipe away the memory of Edina finding him in that state, but he could not. He was a man, for god's sake, but he had been caught behaving like a blubbering baby. What must she think of him? No doubt Edina was laughing at him even as he thought about it.

He was too restless to sleep well, and after a night of tossing and turning, he decided to get out of bed when the sun was only beginning to rise. Lewis could see the day stretching endlessly before him, since it was one of the Laird's and Roy McCarthy's days for poring over the estate's finances. He hated the job, so he decided to make himself scarce. As well as that, of course, he did not wish to encounter Edina. Since he was dodging his clerical duties with his father and Roy, there would be hell to pay later, he knew, but he was willing to endure it. He needed to be away from the castle.

He suddenly thought about his brother and all the childhood punishments they had endured together. He laughed softly before the usual ache of sadness overtook him. Where was his brother now?

He shook his mind free of his melancholic thoughts and dressed quickly, pausing for a quick wash before going to join the men of the guard. Lewis loved the fact that they all regarded him as one of their own. He might have been brought up in a privileged background, but he loved the company of ordinary people, and they felt the same about him.

When he emerged into the hall where the guards ate, they welcomed him eagerly.

"Ale, Master?" one of them asked as he poured Lewis a cupful.

"Geordie, how many times have I asked you not to call me that?" Lewis asked, exasperated. "I might have to put a gag on you!"

The men laughed. This was a joke between them because Lewis was the only Laird's son they had ever met who did not stand on ceremony and address them as if they were his inferiors. He even looked like one of them today because his hair was uncombed, he had not shaved, and the shabby clothes he was wearing looked as though they had been slept in. The only thing that made him different from them was his upper-class accent, although he was perfectly capable of dropping into the Scots language if the need arose.

Lewis shook his head and tucked into his breakfast. The guards ate well; indeed, they had to because theirs was a hard, physical job, and they had to be well-nourished in order to carry it out properly. He ate black pudding, fried eggs and three bannocks washed down with two cups of ale before he was satisfied, by which time the guards were saddling their horses.

"Looks like rain," Douglas Black grumbled. "Just what we need, boys."

Lewis did not care. All he wanted was to be away from the castle, and from Edina. He resolutely pushed her to the back of his mind again as he mounted up and rode away with the other men. It felt good to be in rough-and-ready masculine company, not to have to watch everything he did in case he offended some tender female sensibilities. And yes, sometimes it felt good to be able to say the kind of words that would have made ladies blush and stop their ears. He smiled at the thought.

After a few hours in the company of the guards, he felt carefree and relaxed, even though the rain had come pelting down and soaked him to the skin. In fact, sheltering in a tumbledown barn with some men and a few sheep had been the most enjoyable few hours he had spent in months.

However, the day had to end, and soon it was time to ride back to the castle with the others. Lewis felt a lump of dread sinking to the bottom of his stomach at the thought of eating with his family again, but he could not keep on missing meals with them. It was beginning to look as though he were avoiding them, which, of course, he was.

The minute he entered the castle, he sprinted upstairs to his bedchamber, spraying water all around himself as he went. His manservant took one look at him and called for a bath, then helped him into clean clothes.

"Mistress Edina was lookin' for ye, Master," he told Lewis as he helped him to dress. "Just after they finished eatin' at midday. I told her ye had gone out, an' she didnae look best pleased. Just warnin' ye."

"Thank you, Mick," he said, attempting a smile. "I will see her at dinner."

His heart began to race at the thought of sitting beside her again, but he was helpless. This time he had to face her.

He was so tired after his hectic day and a fitful night's sleep that he had a long nap in the afternoon and missed lunch. Consequently, he was ravenous by the time he went down to dinner. Edina's gaze met his as soon as he walked into the room, and he felt a surge of desire well up in him as her grey-violet eyes met his. Her dress was not revealing, yet he could see the shape of her bosom outlined underneath it, and all he could think of was…

No! he told himself sternly as he sat down opposite her. However, as usual, the men talked about business, and while Lewis tried to work up an interest and concentrate on what they were saying, Edina was far too distracting.

For her part, Edina was trying to keep her attention on what her mother and Lady Findlay were saying. The conversation once more veered into the latest fashions, though, and she felt like banging her head on the table with frustration. These were two intelligent women; surely they had more interesting things to talk about than the length of the latest hemlines?

When he had finished his completely silent meal, Lewis stood up and left the room, then began to walk towards the staircase to his bedchamber. However, he turned when he heard a familiar voice calling his name and faced Edina.

"I need to speak to you," she told him firmly.

"About what?" he asked, frowning.

"About Aidan," she replied.

"Not here," he growled.

Where could they go? Not his bedroom—therein lay too much temptation.

"Come to my father's study," he said at last.

As she followed him upstairs, Edina again had the chance to admire the fine specimen of manhood in front of her, and she felt a shiver under her skin. He was so, so desirable, but could he feel what she felt? She doubted it—anyway, his father had likely already chosen some eligible local lady for him to marry.

The Laird's study was a picture of masculinity. As soon as she went inside, Edina smelled the pervasive scent of leather which came from the two chairs at either side of the massive mahogany desk.

There were two more beside the fireplace, which was huge, but the mantelpiece and the pillars supporting it were plain and devoid of any carving. The only picture in the room was a portrait of Lady Findlay, which hung above the desk at the Laird's back. The curtains were a plain pale grey, and even the candelabras were unadorned and functional. Edina had never seen such a depressing room.

"Sit down," Lewis said tersely, and this time he did not move the chair for her.

He sat down in his father's seat behind the desk, then waited in silence for Edina to speak. His light-brown eyes were dark with anger, and his whole body was tense.

"I want to know where Aidan is so that I can write to him," she began. "I want to know how he is. Is he safe? Do you know?"

Lewis leapt to his feet and walked over to the window.

"Aidan is on board a ship, Edina. He is probably halfway across the world. The only time he could possibly write is if his ship goes into port, and that could be anywhere. He has never written to me or to my parents, so what makes you think he would write to you? Anyway, you never wrote to him when you were away, so why do you want to do so now?"

"I wrote to him a few times, but he never answered, so I gave up," she replied, shrugging. "I have no idea why he never answered. But if you remember, when I wrote to you , I always enquired after him. I never forgot about him, but you always gave me a quick reply in a few words, saying that he was well, but giving me no details."

He turned to face her again, and suddenly Edina was reminded of their encounter on the battlements the previous evening.

"Lewis, about last night?—"

Lewis held up a hand.

"Forget about that, please," he said heavily. "Pretend it never happened. Please."

He was almost begging, she thought.

"I cannot forget it, Lewis, but I will never speak about it to anyone else. I swear."

She paused and gazed at him as he turned to look out of the window again. His whole body was wound up with tension, and she suddenly felt infinitely sorry for him. Something had damaged this man deeply, and she wanted to mend it, to make him whole again.

"If you ever want to talk about what is troubling you, I am here to listen, and everything you say will stay between us."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Lewis whipped around and glared at her, his eyes smouldering with rage.

"And what makes you think I would confide in you, Edina? I have not seen you for years—since we were both children, for God's sake! I do not need a confidant, and even if I did, it would not be you!"

Edina felt a flash of anger, and she stood. She positioned herself beside the desk, closer to the door, not wanting to provoke more of the fury in Lewis's eyes.

"I-I am sorry, Lewis," she said, trying to keep her breathing calm. "I had no intention of intruding on your private thoughts. Forgive me."

She turned on her heel and opened the door, then gave him a regretful glance over her shoulder and left.

Lewis almost followed her. In fact, he was halfway across the room before he changed his mind. He gave a great sigh, then flipped into one of the chairs and put his elbows on the desk and his hands over his face, trying to empty his mind.

His father always kept a bottle of whisky in the study, and it caught his eye as he looked up, but he shuddered. He drank weak ale with the guards and at breakfast and two glasses of wine at dinner, but spirits never passed his lips and had not done for years.

He had been almost lost in drink for some time, and had found that the consequences were so great that he had never allowed himself to get into such a state again. As well as that, he had been obliged to drag his brother home from the tavern hundreds of times. No, it was not for him.

Lewis sighed and left for his chamber, where he took off his evening clothes and reached into the bureau where he kept all his correspondence. There he took out a small wooden box which contained a sheaf of Edina's letters. The earliest ones were written in a childish hand, of course, but as the years went on, they gradually changed to the distinctive sloping script she used now.

The words, too, became longer and more adult, her vocabulary more extensive as the years went on, and as he perused them, Lewis realised that Edina was right. She had consistently asked about Aidan, and although he did not have his own replies, of course, he had always brushed her off with a few words, as if he cared nothing for his brother.

He read one of her letters aloud. He saw by the date that she had been fifteen at the time and was describing her first fitting for a new dress with a whalebone corset.

Dear Lewis, he read.

If there is such a place as hell, I think I was in it today. I feel infinite pity for the poor creatures who had to sacrifice their lives to make this instrument of torture, which is called a corset. This is my first experience with one, and I am beginning to wish that I had been born a man so that I never had to look at the gruesome thing again!

I am convinced that the same madman who designed the rack also thought this up. I can hardly move, my waist is so constricted and as for breathing—well, ladies are obviously not expected to indulge in such an outrageous pastime!

Lewis chuckled as he read the last paragraph. This was so typical of the way Edina expressed herself. Granted, he had not heard her speech for several years, and their conversations had so far not been of the humorous variety, but he could hear her saying the words as if she were standing next to him.

The letter went on:

And whatever this creation is that they are making me wear, I have no words to describe it, Lewis. It is so fluffy and flouncy that I am almost buried inside it! Apparently, this is the kind of garment you need to go to a ceilidh. I swear that if I am forced to wear this thing more than once, I will set it on fire and pretend it is an accident!

Tell me, is there a lady in your life yet, Lewis? I am quite sure there are some lovely lassies drooling over you by this time! I wish I knew what you and Aidan look like now. Both handsome devils, I'll wager!

Speaking of Aidan, I have never received a letter from him, and I am quite sad about it. Can you tell me how he is, and ask him to write to me? I would love to hear from him. As for me, I am well, although I would be much better if I could somehow make this dress disappear! I have made friends with a lovely girl called Marion, who lives on the Isle of Barra, and I am hoping to go and visit her soon.

Please write back to me and tell me all your news as soon as you can. I would love to hear from you both.

Love and best wishes,

Your friend, Edina.

"Damn!"

Lewis began to pace the room, shedding his clothes as he went.

He visualised Edina's face as she had left his father's office. She had been frightened—no, terrified, and he felt desperately ashamed. So far, he could not say that he had shown her one good facet of his character.

He had been sullen, then self-pitying, then angry, and he had not once given her a smile of really good humour, or any sign that he could be happy. They had never shared a joke together as they had done as children, but they had both changed a lot since then.

Could he still be happy now that his brother was not there, though? As well as being family, they had been such good friends, laughing and play-fighting together, wrestling, boxing and doing all the usual madcap things that young healthy men indulged in. He had many other friends, of course—he was not a recluse—but without his brother nothing seemed to be quite as much fun.

His mind went back to Edina again. As he slipped between the bedclothes, he wished she were here with him, if only to keep him warm and talk to him. He could imagine them lying together, skin to skin, her lips so close to his he could almost taste them.

Lewis knew that his father wanted to marry him off to one of the Lairds' daughters in the area. This would make allies out of two families and join their assets together, strengthening both of them. Love was not necessary, and Lewis did not have any preferences—another Lady Findlay was only necessary to carry on the family name.

This would have been quite an acceptable situation until Edina's arrival, but now? Even if he had wanted to marry her, she was not from a high enough rung on the social ladder, had no dowry or property, and no one had ever heard of her or her family. As well as that, after the way he had treated her, he doubted if she would entertain the idea of marrying him.

No, it was out of the question. Anyway, he was not in love with her. He closed his eyes, but it was a long time before sleep claimed him.