Chapter 6

Hamilton,

You may already have heard, for the world is flapping its gums like fury already, but our fool brother is in an almighty mess. I reckon he might appreciate your company at the farm for a while. You know I only ever rub him up the wrong way, but perhaps you can help him figure things out.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon'ble, Lyall Anderson, The Viscount Buchanan to his younger brother, The Hon'ble Hamilton Anderson.

28 th March 1850, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

Delia woke from a peculiar dream about dancing sausages to discover the scent of bacon wafting under her nose and the sound of someone bustling about in the room.

"Good morning, my lady. I began to think ye would sleep all day, though the mistress tells me ye've had a trying time of it, so I'm sure nae one begrudges ye the rest. But I have brought ye an excellent breakfast, so dinnae spoil it by falling asleep again. Aye, up ye come and I'll arrange yer pillows. There, like so. How's that now?"

"Perfect," Delia said, rather dazedly, as the lady wrestled her into a sitting position and plumped her pillows.

"There, now," the woman said, placing a tray on her lap that could not have held another morsel of food. A steaming cup of tea was rammed beside a plate overflowing with sausages, bacon, and eggs, with another plate of golden triangles she could not identify to the side and small dishes containing butter and jam.

"Tattie scones," the lady said cheerfully, seeing her eyeing the triangles with interest. "They're lovely with butter and jam. Eat yer eggs and bacon first and then have a go."

"I'll burst if I eat all that," Delia protested.

"Nae, lassie. Yer but a wee little thing, I grant ye, but difficult times give ye an appetite. Ye will eat it right enough. I'm Mrs Baillie by the by, housekeeper here at Wildsyde. I'll send one of my girls to ye in half an hour to bring ye hot water and help ye dress, and I expect a clean plate returned to me, aye. Set to it now," she ordered, before drawing the curtains and bustling out once more.

Rather stunned, Delia gazed at the plate before her as her stomach gave an audible growl of protest. Deciding Mrs Baillie might have a point, she tucked in, and rather to her astonishment, very nearly cleared the whole tray. Replete and sleepy, she sat back against the pillows and allowed her gaze to drift to the window. A blue sky beckoned, daubed with large billowing white clouds that scudded past with speed enough to suggest it was exceedingly windy outside.

Curious, Delia set the tray aside and slid from the bed. She exclaimed as her bare feet touched the freezing floor. Dancing about a little, she tiptoed over to the window and peered out, her cold toes quite forgotten as she regarded the spectacular view before her.

Though Delia had grown up in the countryside, it had looked nothing like this. This was a far harsher landscape than the one she had known in Norfolk, and yet it was still beautiful. Stunning, in fact. Looking out of the window, she could almost believe she was the only person in the entire world, for it showed her a vast expanse of stark, open plains that seemed to her eye to go on into infinity.

"Good morning, my lady."

Delia turned to see a pretty young woman had entered the room, holding a billowing mass of fabric. She bobbed a quick curtsy and smiled, her eyes bright with interest.

"I'm Eilidh, my lady. Mrs Baillie sent me to help ye, and Lady Buchanan has provided a few gowns for ye to try. I'm to make any alterations, should they be needed, and I'm a fair hand with a needle, I promise."

"I'm sure you are, Eilidh, thank you," Delia said, smiling at her and shivering as the cold by the window seeped into her bones.

"Ach, ye will catch yer death, standing there in nowt but yer shift. Hop back into a bed a moment while I run down and fetch the hot water, aye, and then we'll set to." Eilidh, who looked to be perhaps a year or two younger than Delia's four and twenty years, bit her lip anxiously. "If that pleases ye, my lady."

Delia smiled and nodded. "It does, indeed, thank you."

"I beg your pardon, my lady. I've never attended a duke's daughter before. Ye may dislike my manners, I'm thinking?" she said sheepishly, laying the gowns she had brought on the bed.

"Not a bit of it," Delia replied, meaning it. "I am not the least bit high in the instep and prefer plain speaking. You do as you would for any other lady visiting the castle and we shall rub along nicely."

"Thank ye, I shall do so, but ye must tell me if I go awry," she said firmly, hurrying to the door. "I won't be above a moment," she added, dashing out again.

Delia laughed softly, climbing back into bed to await the hot water and deciding that she liked Eilidh a good deal.

"Well, I'm glad to see ye back, laddie. I feart ye would leave all the hard work to me, and I'm nae spring chicken, ye ken."

"I'm gladder to be back, ye may be sure, Dugald," Muir replied, shaking his farm manager's hand. Dugald MacDonald was a large man in his fifties with massive shoulders and the weatherworn complexion that spoke of a lifetime spent out of doors. "Have ye had any problems?"

"Nae, but I'm hearing tell that ye have had a wee bit of excitement yerself, aye?"

Muir glowered, irritated. "Have folks no better things to do than blether about matters that dinnae concern them?"

"Nae, laddie, of course they dinnae."

"Ach, and I'm nae yer laddie, Dugald," he added, scowling.

Dugald swiped the hat from his head and gave Muir a considering look. "Reckon ye have been away too long. Yer crabbit and 'tis nae like ye, but I'll call ye sir if ye prefer it. 'Tis hard when I have known ye since ye were a bairn, though, aye?"

Muir sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Nae, Dugald. Ignore me. I shall be in a better humour when I've seen everything is as it ought to be."

Dugald nodded, accepting this, and they strode out.

A fresh cold wind blew in, bringing with it the salt tang of the sea from barely a mile away, and Muir breathed deep. The familiar smell settled his nerves, cleansing his spirit as the brisk walk shook off some of the impatience with which he'd risen. Despite his fatigue and the generous amount of whisky his brother had provided, he'd slept ill and woken with a sense of simmering anger towards Delia, which he knew was ill-placed. The girl was innocent in all of this, bloody Goodfellow and that bastard Malmsey were to blame, and he knew it. Yet he felt trapped, imprisoned in a snare that had forced him into offering for a wife he did not want.

"They look bonnie, aye?"

Dugald's voice broke into his dark thoughts, and he looked up to focus on the flock of fine, healthy ewes.

"Aye," Muir agreed. "Are the men ready?"

"Aye, I've engaged extra hands, for I reckon the lambing will be full upon us in a few days at most. Ye have come back just in time."

"I always intended to be home for the first of April," Muir assured him. "Ye dinnae think I would shirk my duty, I hope?"

Dugald grinned at him and gave him a hearty slap on the back. "Nae, laddie."

Muir snorted and muttered something rude, and the two men continued their inspection of the flock in quiet accord.

Delia made her way down the stairs, her skirts and petticoats swishing as she went. When she got to the bottom, she gave a little squeak of alarm as the front door opened, bringing a gust of cold, fresh air and three enormous dogs.

"Don't be alarmed," Luella called cheerfully, appearing behind them. She looked a little windswept, her cheeks pink and glowing. "They're very friendly, I promise."

Reassured, Delia descended the last step and held out her hand to the biggest dog, who sniffed her fingers and gave them a swift lick, wagging his tail at her.

"That's Murdoch," Luella said, closing the door behind her. "He's a sweetheart, and those are his wives, Maggie and Moire."

"They're huge," Delia said, petting each dog in turn. They looked rather like greyhounds, but bigger and covered in wiry grey hair.

"They are," Luella said, smiling at them. "Go and find Lyall, then," she told Murdoch, who seemed to understand perfectly as he walked off, pushing at a door with his nose and walking inside, his wives following on his heels.

"I'm sorry I slept so late. I'm not usually such a slugabed," Delia said apologetically.

"Nonsense, you were worn to a thread, anyone could see that last night," Luella said, giving Delia's outfit a critical once over. "That looks rather good, I think. I thought that dark green would be good for you. It sets off your gold hair to perfection. You're really very beautiful."

Delia blushed but admitted herself pleased by the compliment. "I can't thank you enough for lending it to me. I confess it puts one quite out of countenance not to have a change of clothes to hand when one is required."

"Quite understandable. Now, what would you like to do today? I am at your disposal," Luella replied, staring at her expectantly.

"Oh," Delia said, at a loss. "I don't wish to impose. What would you normally do? Perhaps if you just carried on as usual. If I am to make my life here, I shall have to learn a good deal, I fear."

"Well, I usually spend the mornings with my children, but they are with their nurse at the moment, for I was thinking of visiting the one of his lordship's tenants. Mrs Grant had a bad fall and broke her arm a few weeks ago. She's on the mend now, but it's hard to cook and clean with only her left hand. I'm taking her a pie Mrs Baillie made and few preserves and the like to help her a little. Should you like to come? We'll pass close to Muir's place on our way home, and I imagine you'd like to see that too."

"Oh, I would, very much," Delia agreed, for whilst she still did not know whether she really would rather marry Muir than accept her ruination and live quietly among her family, she was beyond curious to know more about him. Not to mention more of the place that she might one day call home.

"Run and fetch your cloak, then, and I'll collect the basket from the kitchens."

Delia agreed, and a few moments later, they were heading out of the front door.

"Take Murdoch," called Lord Buchanan after them, before they had gone more than a few steps.

"Very well, love," Luella called back, waving at her husband. "Come on then Murdoch," she called, as the big dog trotted after them.

Delia put a hand to her bonnet as a sharp wind blew, tugging at it.

"It's often windy here," Luella said, smiling at her as she strode out. "You get used to it."

"You said you have children? How old are they?"

Luella smiled. "Yes, we have two, a boy and a girl. Gordy is three now, and Fiona is a little over a year old. I'll introduce you to them later."

"Thank you, I should like that very much. I love children, especially little ones. They're so interested in everyone and everything."

Luella laughed at that. "Gordy certainly is, the little devil. He's full of mischief, that one."

Delia laughed, feeling a little breathless as Luella set a fast pace. "How far is the house we are visiting?"

"Oh, just a wee stretch of the legs," Luella replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "That's what Lyall would say, in any case. It's probably a good five miles, though. Are you still game?"

"Of course!" Delia said at once, not wishing to be thought faint-hearted.

"Good girl," Luella said with approval. "But I must warn you, if you are to live here, you'll need to be hardy. Lots of walking and being outside. That is, if you ever want to spend time with Muir, for he's not one for sitting about indoors, I'm afraid. Not that a farmer gets much opportunity for that. Are you very fond of parties and society?"

"I detest parties and society," Delia said shortly. "Unless it's the kind with just family and close friends."

"Well, that's a good start, for that's the only kind we have," she said with a laugh, and then ran to pick up a stick and threw it for Murdoch, who ran off after it, barking happily.

The visit to Mrs Grant's was brief, for which Delia was grateful, as was Mrs Grant, who was in no state to welcome visitors. She greeted Delia cordially but with obvious discomfort at being indisposed. It was interesting, however, to see how warmly Luella was treated, and the friendly way the two talked.

"Mrs Grant told me her youngest daughter just had her first baby," Luella said as they left the property. "A fine, healthy boy. I shall have to tell Lyall. We must think of a good christening present for him."

They walked for another mile or more, chatting as they went, and taking a different path from the one they'd arrived by, when Luella pointed ahead of them. "There is Muir's place, up ahead."

"Oh," Delia said, looking at the grand building with a little surprise. The only dwellings she had seen on their journey before night had fallen had been small crofter's cottages and modest stone houses and she'd wondered what to expect of Muir's home. This was something else.

"Himself built it when Muir was born," Luella said with a smile.

"Himself?"

She smiled at Delia's confusion and nodded. "The Earl of Morven. He knew Lyall would inherit the title and Wildsyde and it's difficult to make a life in the Highlands. He wanted to ensure his sons could stay close and prosper. So, the sheep farm is Muir's and Hamilton was put in charge of the herring boats, though from what I hear of him these days he has a finger in every pie in Wick."

Delia looked at her expectantly and Luella laughed. "I can't keep up with him. The last I heard of Hamilton, he'd bought a whisky distillery. He started his own shipyard three years ago. With the enormous increase in the herring trade, not to mention exporting the fine wool that's produced in these parts, well, that young man is doing very well for himself."

"In trade?" Delia said hesitantly, for she had never heard anyone from a noble family speak so openly about doing such a thing. It was tantamount to social suicide, making whoever dared to dabble in such a grubby enterprise a pariah among his equals.

"I'm afraid so," Luella said, looking at Delia with a speculative gleam in her eyes. "Are you horribly shocked?"

"Y-Yes, and no," she replied carefully, not wanting to offend the woman who had welcomed her so warmly. "I have always been taught that to be in trade is a dreadful thing, you see. My father would certainly condemn him without a moment's hesitation, but my father is not a nice man nor one who would ever lift a finger to earn his own keep."

She thought then of how the duke had spent his fortune so selfishly that there was nothing left for Wrexham to inherit. If not for her brother's foresight and good fortune in investing in Mr Gabriel Knight's railway scheme, the family would have been brought to ruin.

"My brother, however, is a good man, and one who would do anything to ensure the safety and prosperity of his family. I think he would wholeheartedly approve of Mr Hamilton's efforts, and so do I. A man with intelligence and ambition ought to take the opportunities given to him to make a good life for himself. It is only a pity that we do not have those same opportunities. My value was in my virtue, and now that has gone, I'm worthless despite my dowry," Delia said with a catch in her voice.

"My dear," Luella said, taking hold of her hands and squeezing them tightly. "No one in this family thinks that way, I assure you, and neither will any man of good sense."

"That does not mean they will wish to marry me," Delia replied, grateful for her kind words but too aware of the truth to allow herself to be lulled into thinking it was not so very bad. "If Muir and I find we suit, perhaps I will have a lucky escape, but otherwise the only offers I shall receive are from men desperate enough for my money to overlook my reputation. I do not think that will be a happy basis for a marriage."

"Then we must hope you and Muir do suit," Luella said, her voice gentle. "And I have to say, I do not see why not. If you think you could endure life in such a remote part of the world."

"I think I could do so very easily, if only I could find a way to be useful. I know Muir thinks I'm ill-suited to such a life."

"And what do you think?" Luella asked, holding her gaze.

Delia put her chin up. "I think, like most men, he underestimates what women are capable of."

"That's my girl," Luella said approvingly. "You show him what you're made of. I faced many of the same challenges when I arrived, you know, and you'll be amazed by what you can achieve when you put your mind to it. What do you think of the house, by the way?"

"I think it's very fine," Delia replied, gazing across fields dotted with hundreds of sheep towards the stone manor house.

It was handsome, rather than pretty, built to withstand the harsh environment in which it stood. The house was modest compared to Wrexham's vast estates and holding, but the place had a friendly aspect that appealed to her. It looked to be a comfortable home rather than an impressive showpiece, a place where one could be contented to raise a family and live a life free of the expectations of others. To her surprise, Delia found she could imagine herself in such a place without difficulty, though imagining herself living there with Muir was a harder image to conjure.

"Come on, then, let's see if Muir is around. At least we can get his housekeeper to make us a cup of tea. I warn you, though, Mrs Paterson is a formidable woman. She frightened the wits out of me when I first met her."

Delia looked at the Lady Buchanan sceptically, for she did not look like the kind of woman who found anything daunting. She was elegant and self-possessed and exuded a quiet strength and confidence that Delia wished very much to emulate.

"She did, I swear it," Luella said, laughing in the face of Delia's expression. "But the trick is to stand up to her. If you let her bully you, she will continue to do so, but if you show no fear, then you'll earn her respect. Eventually."

"Eventually?" Delia said, not liking the sound of the housekeeper one bit.

"Probably," Luella said, which was not in the least bit reassuring. "Don't be disappointed if Muir isn't here. They've a busy time ahead. Lambing generally starts around the first week of April and it's heavy going until they're all born."

"Muir really is a farmer, then?" Delia asked, realising she had assumed he was more of a gentleman farmer who let others do the hard work.

"He doesn't have to be, for he has good men working for him, but he's not the sort to sit idle. Muir takes a pride in the farm and the quality of his sheep. You understand that the wool they produce is very sought after and fetches a high price, even for these parts, where the demand is increasing at an incredible rate."

"I didn't really, but I do now. I have a great deal to learn, don't I?"

"Yes, but that's the fun of it, you see. I couldn't cook when I got here, but Mrs Baillie took me on and now I'm a fair hand with a pudding or a pie, if I do say so myself."

"You cook?" Delia said, and then hurriedly rearranged her face to one that was less shocked.

Luella only laughed. "I'm a dreadful viscountess, I know, but that's the thing, Delia. Out here, we can make our lives what we want them to be. Oh, if we went to town I should hold my tongue and not admit to enjoying spending time in the kitchens, but in truth I do not care for the opinions of people who would disparage me, and our close friends accept me for what I am. My life is here, with Lyall and our children, and the rest of our family and friends. The rest is just a bit of frilly nonsense that we indulge ourselves with when we want to shop and catch up with friends."

"It sounds idyllic," Delia said with a sigh.

"It is rather, or at least I find it so," Luella told her with a smile. "Come on then. Let us see if Mrs Paterson is in a good enough mood to make us tea."

Muir left Dugald to his work with reluctance. He'd far rather spend the rest of the day outside with him, preparing for the lambs that would arrive in the coming days. But Dugald had everything well in hand, and there were bills to pay that would not wait and a pile of correspondence that had grown to a dismaying volume in his absence. The idea that his life would be a good deal easier with a wife to help him manage things was not a new one. It was the reason he still spent time in London for the season, hoping he might find someone suitable. He'd concluded he was kidding himself over the past weeks, however, for the ladies of the ton were too finely bred to welcome the life he could offer them, though it was looking to be an increasingly prosperous one. He had spent a fair bit of time in Edinburgh too, thinking perhaps a hardy Scottish lass would be a better prospect, but though he had met lots of lovely young women, none of them had stirred his interest.

Now, though, a wife had fallen into his lap, like it or not, and he could not decide if he did like it at all. It would save him a deal of trouble, but could Delia really adapt to such a life? She'd been raised to be a fine lady, a duke's daughter, of all things. She was hardly ideal. Though he could not deny she was a pretty wee thing, which was a definite point in her favour.

He got back to the house to discover Mrs Paterson hefting a large tea tray.

"Have we guests?" he asked in surprise.

"Aye," the lady said curtly. "And I would have been grateful if ye had told me ye were expecting such fine company. Here's me, run off my feet on wash day, and that fool girl ye have employed is nae help at all, blethering on about lord knows what when all I need is a capable pair of hands and—"

"Who are my guests?" Muir asked, interrupting the flow of discontent and paying it little heed. Mrs Paterson seemed to take a perverse joy in complaining about everyone and everything and he rarely had the patience for it.

"Lady Buchanan and the Lady Cordelia Steyning, and that's another thing, sir. Rumour has it the lassie is to be yer wife. Did ye nae think that might be a thing I needed to know, and her here without a by-your-leave to see the house, with me all at sixes and sevens?"

"Faith, calm yerself," Muir said in exasperation. "The lady may well be my wife, if she decides she can be happy here, and she's nae like to do that with you blethering on and complaining about every little thing that troubles ye. So, I'll thank ye to mind yer tongue whilst she's here, aye?"

"Aye, sir, whatever ye say, sir," she replied curtly.

Muir sighed and pushed open the door to the parlour, gesturing for his housekeeper to precede him.

"Good morning, Luella, good morning, Delia," he said, as he followed her into the room and closed the door. "I didnae expect to see ye today," he added, giving his sister-in-law a reproving look, which she met with equanimity.

"I beg your pardon, Muir. It was my fault, but Delia accompanied me to see how Mrs Grant fares, and so inevitably, we came back this way."

"Thank ye, Mrs Paterson, ye may leave us now," Muir said, waiting until the housekeeper had left the room. "'Tis nae bother, Luella, 'tis only that ye have put Mrs Paterson in a pelter by arriving without me giving her fair warning."

"Oh dear, is she terribly vexed with us?" Delia asked anxiously.

"Nae, lassie, nae more than she is vexed with any other thing that troubles her during the day. Ye must pay her nae heed."

"That's what I said," Luella replied cheerfully. "Shall I be mother?" she added, reaching for the teapot and preparing everyone a cup.

"These shortbread biscuits are divine," Delia said, once everyone had a cup of tea to their liking.

Muir nodded, pleased to note she helped herself to a second. "Aye, that's Paterson's saving grace. She is a fine cook, else I should nae tolerate her crabbit ways. But tell me, how do you find Brabster Farm?"

"I like it very well," Delia said, smiling at him, and rather to his surprise, Muir found that he'd been eager to hear her opinion and to know she liked it. "The house is a fine one, strong and handsome, and inside is most comfortable," she added diplomatically.

"Aye, it is that, though ye need nae be so polite. It needs a woman's touch. I have nae the time to pretty it up."

"Nor the inclination," Luella added with a laugh.

Muir shrugged, not about to deny it. "Nae, 'tis true enough. I would nae have the first idea of where to begin. Do ye think ye could make something of it?" he asked Delia, curious to know what she would do, just how she would change it.

"Oh, but it would be easily done. Especially in this lovely room," she said at once, her eyes lighting up. "I should take down those dark curtains first, for though the material is beautiful, they give the room a rather gloomy aspect. I think the chairs and the settees are very elegant, but I should have them reupholstered too, and you ought to have a lovely rug in here, something in blue and grey tones, I think." She broke off suddenly, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink that made Muir smile. "I beg your pardon. I ought never—"

Muir laughed and waved her apology aside. "I asked ye, did I nae? I think it sounds a fine plan too."

She relaxed visibly, smiling at him. His eyes fell to her lips, which were soft and plush and a delectable rose colour. A stir of interest flickered in his guts, and he had to fight to look away from her.

"Ah, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I really must try to persuade Mrs Paterson to give up her shortbread recipe." Luella hurried from the room before either of them could object.

"I think that is her idea of a discreet exit," Muir said ruefully. "For she's certainly nae hope of getting her hands on that recipe."

"She's been terribly kind to me," Delia replied, though she was suddenly all on edge again, her posture ramrod straight, her cheeks blazing a deeper colour than before.

"Aye, though Mrs Baillie will murder her with her bare hands if she discovers she asked Mrs Paterson for her shortbread recipe, and then she'll murder Mrs Paterson. There's a wee bit of rivalry between the two, ye may as well ken."

Delia didn't reply, and Muir got to his feet. "Would ye like to have a look about the place, then?"

She nodded and put her teacup down before accepting the hand he offered her. Muir placed it on his arm and escorted her out of the room. "We'll nae visit the lion's den for now as Luella is keeping her busy," he said confidentially, showing Delia instead the dining room and family parlour, his study and the music room.

"You have a piano!" she exclaimed in delight, hurrying over to it.

"Aye, but I thought ye said ye had nae talent for such ladylike accomplishments?"

"Oh, I don't," she admitted, with such candour he could not help but smile. "But I love to play all the same, and I adore listening to those who are more accomplished, too. Do you play, then?"

"Aye, a wee bit," he admitted. "It was my punishment, actually."

"I beg your pardon?"

She looked at him in confusion and Muir laughed, settling himself on the stool and lifting the lid over the keys. "I was a wicked boy, I am ashamed to tell ye, Delia. I had a grand sense of adventure and fancied myself an explorer or some such nonsense. I'd get myself lost or stuck up a tree and everyone would waste hours searching for me. Ach, I was always in trouble for one thing or another, and my da did nae care to birch me. Our grandfather was a violent man, ye see, and so it gave him a disgust of laying hands on a child. But though he's formidable, is my da, his ranting and bellowing had nae effect and I kept on making mischief until Ma came up with an idea. My mother is an evil genius, ye may as well know, and she brought a music tutor here, all the way from Edinburgh. I was forced to do half an hour every day and, for every misdemeanour, another half an hour was added to my time. So, in a very short time I became very accomplished," he said, grinning at her unrepentantly as he began a complicated piece she recognised at once.

" Un Sospiro ," she exclaimed in delight, and Muir preened a little at the admiration in her eyes.

He rarely played in front of anyone. He always felt rather awkward about doing so, for usually it was the ladies who played, as it gave them an opportunity to shine. Sometimes at family events, his parents or brothers would harangue him into playing for them, but mostly he did it for his own pleasure, usually when he was blue devilled and nothing else would soothe him. Playing for Delia made him feel rather pleased with himself, though. He brought the piece to a premature end, not wishing her to think he was showing off, but her disappointment seemed genuine when he closed the lid.

"You play wonderfully well," she said, gazing at him in such a way his pride swelled a little. "I shall never dare to play for you, though, I'm afraid. You will put my meagre talents to shame."

"I doubt that, and I should like to see ye sat at the piano, for ye would make a pretty picture, of that I have nae doubt."

"Perhaps, so long as I don't actually play anything," she replied, laughing. "I used to pretend to be an explorer too," she blurted out suddenly, blushing at the admission.

"Did ye now?" he said in surprise. "I'd think ye would prefer to be a princess stuck in a tower."

She gave him such a look of disgust he could not help but laugh. "Ach, I didnae mean it. Yer are nae the sort to sit about awaiting rescue, that much I ken well enough. I can see ye as an explorer too. A wee girl with yer skirts tucked up and dirty knees, aye?"

She blushed harder but her mouth twitched. "An accurate description, I fear," she said dryly. "And a stolen bun from the kitchens stuffed in my pocket," she added with a smile.

Once more his gaze drifted to her mouth, a stir of interest flickering in his loins as he wondered what it might be like to take her in his arms and kiss her. That he ought to find out sooner rather than later was an idea he was all too ready to accommodate. After all, if they did not suit, if she did not enjoy his attentions, that would certainly bode ill for their future.

For now, he got to his feet and took her hand in his. She had removed her gloves to take tea, and her hand was slender and soft, the skin so fair he suspected it had never seen the sun. She swallowed as his larger, weather-browned hand wrapped about hers, and he found himself surprised by the thrum of connection he felt, by the increasingly insistent tug of desire that urged him to kiss her, but he did not wish to frighten the girl out of her wits.

"Is this all right?" he asked, squeezing her fingers gently.

"Y-Yes, quite all right," she replied, though she sounded breathless with nerves.

Muir watched her closely, aware suddenly of the scent she wore, or perhaps it was the soap she had washed with. Chamomile, he thought, something fresh and innocent. It suited her. He looked into her eyes; they were a remarkable shade of blue, darker than any he ever remembered seeing before.

"Are… Are you going to kiss me?" she asked, surprising him.

"Would you like me to?"

"I don't know," she admitted, considering the idea. "Are you very good at it?"

Despite himself, Muir burst out laughing. "Well, I have had nae complaints," he remarked, noticing too late how mortified she looked.

"I beg your pardon!" she exclaimed, covering her hand with her mouth. "Oh, please forgive me. I am not usually so bold, only the thought came into my head—"

"And so ye said it out loud," he said, still chuckling. "I dinnae mind that, lassie, though I can see how being out in society might be a trial to ye."

"Oh, it was. I was forever putting my foot in my mouth," she said, looking so wretched Muir could not help but feel sorry for her.

"Nae, then. I much prefer to know what yer thinking, no matter what it might be. Especially if yer thinking of kissing me," he added with a flirtatious lilt to his voice, just to see how she would react.

"But I wasn't thinking of it. Well, at least, I wasn't until I thought you might kiss me, then I thought about it," she said with her usual candour.

"Aye, and then ye wondered if it would be worth yer while to let me," he added, smiling at her. "Shall we find out?"

She swallowed nervously and gave a taut nod.

"Have ye ever been kissed?" he asked her, moving closer, and a little startled by the way his body tensed with anticipation.

Delia shook her head, her eyes wide and impossibly blue in the bright light of the music room. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and colour bloomed in her cheeks. As he watched, her tongue swept out, licking her lips, and a jolt of desire arrowed through him. Well, that was a good sign, he thought, reaching out to cup her cheek with his hand.

"Your hands are very warm," she said, never tearing her gaze from his. "So large, too. I mean, larger than mine, not too large for you. I don't mean that they are out of proportion to the rest of you, for that would look ridiculous, only that—"

"Hush, lassie," he whispered, and bent to press his mouth to hers.

Her lips were every bit as plush and inviting as he'd supposed they would be, but though the temptation to plunder was hard to resist, he lingered only for a moment, not wanting to offend her maidenly sensibilities.

As he drew back, he saw her eyes flick open, and she stared at him, looking a little incredulous.

"Is that all?" she asked bluntly.

Muir bit back a smile but could not keep the amusement from his voice. "I didnae want to make ye feart of me, but if ye can stand a bit more—"

"Yes, certainly," she said at once, looking so earnest it was all he could do not to laugh.

"Aye, well, here we go, then," he said, moving his mouth back to hers.

Tenderly, he brushed his mouth over her lips, back and forth, dozens of light, teasing kisses that sought to entice her as he placed his hands on her waist. Such a tiny waist it was too, easy for him to span with his hands. It reminded him of how delicate she was, how fragile. Surely a fairylike creature of this kind could not survive in such a wild place? The idea that she would be unhappy here struck at his heart and was hard to shake off.

Then she sighed, leaning into him, her palms pressed against his chest. That soft sound set off sparks of delight that glittered through his blood and made him want to take more, so he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her. She went willingly, pliant in his embrace, and he broke the kiss to look down at her.

Delia's eyes were closed, her lips still pursed to receive his next kiss, and the sight made him smile. One eye cracked open, and she regarded him with a slight frown creasing her brow.

"Have you finished?" she asked.

"Nae, not just yet," he told her, and kissed her again, harder this time. Muir traced her lower lip with his tongue, feeling her surprise as she gasped. "Open for me," he urged, not entirely surprised when she pulled back to give him a questioning look.

"I don't understand."

"Open yer mouth a wee bit when I kiss ye," he explained patiently, amused by her sceptical expression. "Ye wanted to be kissed, did ye nae? Well, this is the way of it. If ye dinnae like it, I shall stop."

He prayed she would not tell him to leave off, for by this point the idea of kissing her had taken hold of his brain, not to mention other parts of his anatomy farther south.

"Very well," she said, looking brave rather than enthusiastic, which put him on his mettle.

When his mouth touched hers again, she opened her mouth a little and Muir slid his tongue inside, his senses igniting at the shy touch of her tongue against his. To his delight, she did not remain passive, but sought to copy his movements, giving back everything he gave to her with enthusiasm, and within a very short time, Muir knew the kiss was evolving into something he had not been prepared for.

She was just so responsive to his touch. As he kissed her with increasing passion, so her fervour grew in response and encouraged him to continue, to deepen the kiss further still, allowing his hands to wander places he knew better to let them go with an innocent girl. His palm closed over her remarkably full breast, and he squeezed, yet she only sighed and pressed herself closer. Muir's mind became a blank, his only thought focused on this first, delicious kiss, and what might come next if she became his wife.

"Oh!"

Delia jolted and pushed out of his arms, her cheeks blazing as Luella exclaimed in dismay.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I thought you were in the parlour! Pretend I was never here. Do carry on," she said wildly and fled the room.

The door closed with a thud and Muir turned back to Delia, half expecting a flurry of accusations for his bad behaviour, or icy silence, or simply wailings of mortification. Instead, he saw her cover her hand with her mouth for a moment before she burst out laughing. Muir grinned, relieved she could see the funny side of it.

"Oh, p-poor Luella," she stammered. "I shan't be able to look her in the eye ever again."

"Ach, Luella is a great gun. She won't be the least bit shocked, I promise ye. Are ye nae angry with me, then?"

She looked genuinely bewildered. "Whatever for?"

"I took things a bit farther than I intended," he said ruefully, watching her to see flush and drop her gaze to the floor.

"Do you think me very bold for not stopping you?" she asked.

Muir shook his head before realising she was still not looking at him. "Nae. I dinnae think that."

She glanced up with a smile and shrugged. "I do not see how I can decide whether to marry you if we do not discover if we suit first," she said simply.

Muir nodded. "Sensible lassie, and if ye wish to discover a bit more, I am at your disposal."

He winked at her and discovered himself pleased when she grinned back at him, and he discovered she had dimples in her cheeks that he had not noticed before. They were charming, giving her an impish air which appealed to him. "I shall bear that in mind," she said gravely. "But now I think I had best find Luella and return home. Shall I see you again today?"

"Nae, I'm afraid ye shan't. I have to tell ye, the next weeks are going tae be mad busy and I may see little of ye at all."

"Oh," she said in dismay. "Of course, I understand, but I cannot stay here indefinitely without…"

"Aye," he said, aware of the problem. The longer she remained here, unmarried, the worse the gossip would get. "I ken the difficulty. I'll do my best, aye?"

"Perhaps if I came to help you?" she asked, and Muir's mind boggled at the idea of this pretty society miss, daughter to a duke, on her knees in a lambing shed, covered in blood and muck.

"I dinnae think so," he said at once, seeing the disappointment in her eyes, but not heeding it. "'Tis nae a proper place for ye, Delia, and ye would only be in the way."

"Oh. Oh, yes, I see," she said, though he heard the flat tone of her voice.

It was better that they did not pretend she was fit for such work, though. He was not about to encourage her rosy daydreams of what she thought being a farmer's wife might be like, no doubt cuddling newborn lambs with snowy white fleeces, with no real concept of how they came into the world.

"Well, in that case, I had better let you get back to work. There's no need to see me out. I'll find Luella. Good day to you, Muir."

"Good day, Delia."

With that, he watched her go, aware of a sense of having lost something, but not entirely sure what it had been.