Chapter Seven

W as it possible for dinner to be an erotic experience? If one had asked Malcolm before this eve he would have said absolutely not.

But sitting across from the beautiful Lizzie Barclay, watching her enjoy her meal with such fervor, it most certainly was. Especially when she moaned with delight as she sank her teeth into the berry tart that was served for dessert.

He found himself clearing his throat and straightening himself in his chair more times than he wanted to admit.

Their conversation was easy. Natural.

As if they were long-time acquaintances.

“Have ye always lived in Stonehaven?”

She licked her lips, picking up a crumb from the tart that had settled on them, and nodded. “Aye. My papa was born there and my mama was from Inverness. Of course, when they married, they settled into Papa’s familial home, Tolton Hall. ’Tis a beautiful estate as ye will see.” Her eyes clouded before she quickly guarded her gaze and took another bite of the tart.

“Ye said your grandmama has passed.”

She frowned and her gaze dipped down to her plate.

“Aye.”

“I am verra sorry to hear that. Is your grandfather still with ye?”

Lizzie shook her head. The baubles in her ears swinging from side to side. “Nay. I ne’er kenned him. He passed before I was born. ’Tis why my grandmama lived with us.”

He nodded. Malcolm could understand the loss of family before ye met them. He’d been in much the same situation. He had never met his grandparents either. From either side. And his parents died when he was very young. So young that he didn’t remember them.

He’d been raised by nannies and tutors, preparing him to become the best earl he could be. Which he hoped he succeeded in and was making his parents proud. At least he liked to think that they would be proud to see the man he’d become.

“What about ye?” she asked, drawing his attention back to her. “Is Twynholm your home?”

“Nay. I do have an estate near there, but ’tis no’ where I spend verra much of my time. I usually stay in Culzean Castle.”

Her eyes rounded at the word castle.

“I have always found castles fascinating. Aye, we have our estates, but castles hold so much more history than an estate.”

“I must confess, I do enjoy my time at Culzean. Though it can be monotonous at times.”

She cocked her head to the side, a small frown on her face. “How so?”

He shrugged. “The days are always the same. The same tasks need to be done. There is a definite lack of excitement to poring over the finances day after day.”

“What do ye like to do for excitement?”

That question caught him unawares. He took a long pull of wine and set the glass on the table before thrumming his fingers against the cloth-covered wood. “’Tis a good question, Miss. I find since I returned from the war, I havena really done much that would qualify for excitement.”

Her eyes flared. “Ye fought in the war?”

“Aye. I have been home for a few years now. But that experience never leaves ye.”

“Ye are lucky to have made it home. No’ e’eryone was such.”

A faraway look entered her eyes, and Malcolm had the feeling that she had known someone who fought.

“War is ne’er fun and ne’er something to be taken lightly. I did what I had to do for our country and enjoyed my job while there, no matter how difficult it was.”

She nodded. “What was your job?”

He continued to tap his fingers on the table as he studied her face, wondering how much he should tell her. Deciding to downplay what he did, he answered. “Information gathering, mostly.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“My brother served, but unfortunately he didna make it home.” Sadness caused the corners of her mouth to slope down into a frown and her eyes to mist over.

“I am verra sorry, Lass.” Without thinking, he reached across the table and grasped her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckle in an offering of comfort.

She pulled back her hand as if she’d been scorched and quickly looked around the room.

He cursed under his breath.

Bloody hell. He had meant naught by the gesture, but also understood what the ramifications of such an action could mean for a young lass.

“I apologize. Both for my actions and for your brother.”

She cleared her throat and pushed back from the table.

He hurried to stand.

“I wish to return to my room for the night, my lord. Thank ye for the conversation.” She spun on her heel and rushed from the room, Mary following closely on her heels.

He looked to the ceiling and shook his head, disgusted with himself. He called for a servant and when she approached, he asked, “Whisky?”

“Aye, my lord.” The serving maid bowed and scuttled off. She returned a few minutes later with a decanter of whisky and a glass.

He offered his thanks and poured himself a generous serving.

Knocking back the deep-amber liquid, he hissed at the burn as it made its way down his throat. He refilled the glass but this time, nursed his drink.

He had a duty to protect the lass and her maid. And to keep an eye on her to ensure she didn’t attempt to escape. Though he really didn’t think she would do that. After all, she’d already given him the name of the estate where she resided. If she tried to run, that’s where she would go, and he would just follow.

Either way, he needed to keep his wits about him this night.

He finished the glass and bid good eve to the serving maid and the innkeeper as he passed the man hunched over a logbook on the desk.

Upstairs, he paused outside Lizzie’s door and listened. He could hear voices but couldn’t discern the conversation. That was fine. He just wanted to ensure they were inside.

Inside his own room, he washed up for the night, but he had no plans on sleeping in this room on the bed that would no doubt be more comfortable than the floor.

Nay, he would be posted out in the hall. He told himself it was to make sure the lass didn’t make a run for home, but he kenned deep inside it was because he wanted to ensure the lass’s safety.

He would make sure no man entered the room while two young women slept inside.

*

Lizzie awoke in the middle of the night and tossed and turned for some time, unable to fall back to sleep. Whenever this happened, the only thing she found that would help was a glass of warm milk. Obviously, she didn’t have any in her room, and after a few moments of worrying about what the innkeeper would think about her going down to the kitchen for a glass, she decided that if she wanted to get any sleep at all this night, she didn’t have a choice.

Slipping quietly out of bed, being careful not to awaken Mary, she pushed her feet into slippers and wrapped herself in a robe. She looked over her shoulder as she pulled the door open, saying a silent prayer that the hinges didn’t squeak, and stepped into the hall.

“Where are ye going lass?”

“Christ!” She exclaimed before she could stop it. “Ye frightened me. What are ye doing in the hall?”

Sitting on the floor, his back against his room’s door, sat the earl, his arm resting on a bent knee, a smirk tilting his mouth.

“Making sure ye arena escaping,” he said quietly.

She threw her arms up in the air. “Surely, ye jest, Sir.” She tapped her palm on her chest, trying to calm her beating heart. She feared it would beat right out of her chest at how much he made her jump. “If I were planning an escape, which I am no’, but if I were, would I be wearing slippers and a robe?”

She crossed her arms and pierced him with a stare.

He shrugged. “Mayhap no’, but one can ne’er ken.” He pushed himself up to his feet, towering over her. “Why are ye out in the hall in your nightclothes?”

Her cheeks heated as his eyes traveled slowly down her body and she cinched her robe tighter.

“I canna sleep. I am after a glass of warm milk.”

“I can help ye with that.”

“Nay, I can go to the kitchen on my own, thank ye.” She couldn’t even imagine the rumors that would spread if they were seen together in the middle of the night. Her in her nightclothes and no chaperone anywhere in sight.

“I insist.”

She looked back and forth down the hall. No one was about. The chances of them being caught were slim. Everyone should be asleep in their beds, which is where she wished she was. The sooner she could get some milk, the sooner she would be.

“Fine,” she huffed, heading toward the stairs.

The earl followed silently behind her, holding a lantern he’d grabbed from a table in the hall. How someone so massive could be so quiet, she had no idea. She thought about him sleeping in the hall. Was he really doing that to ensure she stayed put? It seemed excessive to her. Overbearing even.

“The kitchen is this way.” At the bottom of the stairs, he took her elbow and led her to the left.

The soft glow of the lantern lit their way, casting shadows on the walls as they padded quietly down the hall.

Thankfully the kitchen was empty when they entered. She watched as the earl found a jug of milk and grabbed a saucepan and set it on the stove. After he poured in some milk, he lit the flame to warm the milk and turned toward her.

“Have a seat, Lass.” He pointed to a chair at a small table that Lizzie assumed was where the cook sat when she needed a respite or to eat.

She sat as instructed. The care he was showing for her took her by surprise. One minute he was gruff and the next he was making her a glass of warm milk, sweet as ever.

“Do ye have a wife, my lord?” The question was out of her mouth before she even thought of what she was asking. It also wouldn’t be abnormal for him to be married. He was titled, attentive, caring, and handsome. She hadn’t been around many men what she presumed to be his age, but it seemed that those were traits that he would attain with a wife.

“Ye asked me that earlier, before the storm. But, nay, I dinna, Lass. And, please, stop calling me lord or sir. Malcolm is fine.”

“My apologies.” She flushed at the repeated question. She had completely forgotten she had posed the question earlier. It was just when she saw him being so thoughtful and caring, she found it inconceivable that he was unmarried.

Cocking her head to the side, she studied him as he stirred the milk with a wooden spoon he’d snatched from a utensil holder. It didn’t feel right to call him by his given name. It felt too personal. They were not close acquaintances. Nor friends. Most definitely not. Right now, she was pretty much in his custody.

“’Twouldna be proper for me to do so. Sisters then?”

“Nay. What are ye fishing for, Lass?”

She lifted a brow in surprise. She was certain he’d learned his behavior from a female in his life, but it appears she was wrong. His mama could have taught him so well, she supposed. His ire at her questions was interesting. Was he trying to hide something from her?

“I am no’ fishing for anything, S-er, Malcolm.” It felt odd to her to address him as such. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“If ye are no’ looking for information than why the barrage of questions regarding my relationships?”

She folded her hands in her lap, rolling her fingers together. “I just thought I would like to ken ye. It appears that we will be spending at least a few days in each other’s company. I was only trying to find common ground betwixt us.”

He turned off the flame and poured the milk into a mug before handing it to her.

“Thank ye.” She blew at the liquid before testing the temperature with a tentative sip. It was perfect. She should have known. It seemed the earl—Malcolm—could do no wrong.

“Whilst I agree our time together will be lengthy, I dinna think ’tis a good idea for us to get too personal.”

“Well, I do apologize for prying. I was only trying to be cordial. I shall refrain from doing so in future conversations,” she snapped.

Leaning against the counter, he sighed, pushing his hands through his honey hair.

“How is your milk?” he asked.

“’Tis perfect. Thank ye.”

He nodded and looked quickly away.

Malcolm Kennedy was surely a mystery. The question that needed to be answered was if it was a mystery she wanted to solve.