Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he funeral was mercifully over, the mourners departed, and Janice and Alasdair buckled down and began to work together, soon forming a bond that was almost as tight and efficient as the one Janice had shared with her father. She missed the laird sorely every day but was glad of her brother's solid presence.

They could share memories together, both happy and sad, and if one of them burst into tears there was no embarrassment since they hid nothing from each other. It was strange, Janice thought, that it had taken the death of her father to give birth to this new relationship with Alasdair.

Eager to learn everything, he had thrown himself heart, soul, and body into the workings of the estate. Soon the villagers began to notice the difference in him, and newfound respect grew between them. He and Janice often went to the White Bull together, and before long he was a regular.

"Yer brother has changed a bit since the laird passed away, Janice," Queenie observed as she watched Alasdair's tall figure walk out of the tavern one day.

"He has indeed, Queenie," she agreed. "And no one is more proud than I am."

The maidservant who came to find Janice almost burst into fits of laughter at the sight of her mud-smeared appearance.

"Mistress, there is a man here tae see ye," she announced, trying not to giggle. "I told him ye were nae ready. He is waiting in the wee parlor."

Janice was puzzled. "I am not expecting anyone," she mused. "Did he tell you his name?"

The young woman shook her head. "I know his name, mistress. He is Bernard Taggart. He came for the contest, remember?"

Janice's heart skipped a beat and the usual surge of rage that she felt whenever she heard Bernard's name boiled up within her. She stood up and brushed the dirt from her dress with her equally dirty hands, then marched out of the kitchen garden, heedless of the fact that she was tramping great clods of earth into the kitchen.

"I wouldnae like tae be in his shoes," the cook said, frowning. "That tongue o' hers could cut ye in two!"

Janice's rage rose as she stamped toward the parlor, and by the time she reached it, she was absolutely fuming. As soon as she saw Bernard's wide back, broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs, she felt like committing murder because, even now, she desired him. He was a loathsome, unprincipled swine, but she still wanted him. What kind of sad person did that make her?

Hearing her footsteps behind him, he turned to greet her, but as soon as he saw her thunderous face, the polite greeting died on his lips.

"I never meant to hurt you, Janice." It was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he saw her. "I am so sorry. What you heard was William's idea, and I was just about to strike him in anger when you interrupted us and came to the wrong conclusion." Then he remembered his reason for arriving on her doorstep uninvited. "I was so sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man."

Janice was dressed in a garment that could charitably have been described as hideous since it was made of a dull brown linen fabric that was patched in several places and bore many stains of dubious origin. Her face was smeared with mud, as were her hands, but he cared nothing about all of that. She was there, close to him, and to his eyes, she had never looked lovelier.

"Thank you for the condolences," she said stiffly. "As for the rest, I don't believe you." Her voice, hard and flinty, sounded like the clashing of one stone against another, and her brow was drawn down over her eyes like a cloud over the sun. "I heard you and your loathsome friend discussing me. Sleep with you? I would not share my body with you if you were the last man on Earth."

The unfairness of her statement made his anger rise to meet hers.

"And yet you wanted to before!" he reminded her. "You begged me to take you there in the castle turrets with a cold stone wall behind your back in the most undignified way possible. Do you think I would have refused your offer if I had some kind of nefarious plan?

"I could have taken your virginity right there and then and ruined you. I could even have used our liaison as a tool with which to blackmail you. I stopped you, Janice, not the other way round!" He paused for a moment to regain his breath, and when he spoke again, the fury had left his eyes. "I care for you, Janice. I love you, and I could not go on any longer knowing that you thought me a monster. Even if you never return my feelings, I hope I have changed your mind because if I have, I can rest more easily knowing you don't think badly of me."

Janice looked at the hurt that was written all over his face and suddenly realized the truth of his words. She had been so focused on her own pain and anger that the memory of him gently pushing her away had not crossed her mind again. She had been fretting, blaming him, cursing him, and wishing him dead when none of her misery was his fault. At the time, she had felt hurt and rejected, but now she could see the wisdom of what he had done. He had acted against his own urges to preserve her maidenhead and her honor. Far from being the villain of her nightmares, he was a good and noble man. How could she ever have thought otherwise?

A wave of shame washed over her, and she put her hands over her face to cover it for a moment before taking a few steps toward him.

"Bernard, I am so sorry. Everything you said is right, but I was so angry that I never thought that way. I was thinking only of myself. Please forgive me, Bernard, because I love you too, and my heart will break if you walk away."

He stood for a moment, staring at her in disbelief, then his face broke into a wide, glorious grin.

"Oh, God!" he breathed. "You have no idea how long I have waited for you to say that, Janice."

He covered the distance between them in three long steps and pulled her into his arms, heedless of her dirty dress and the mud on her face and hands.

He smiled as he kissed her because she tasted of the earth that was clinging to her face and lips, and it was the most unusual kiss he had ever shared with any woman. Nevertheless, he put his whole heart into it because he was kissing the woman he loved, the last woman he would ever kiss. Nothing but death would ever part them now.

Janice was in heaven as his lips swooped onto hers, and he thrust his tongue into the sweetness of her mouth, almost devouring her as he strove to be closer to her. He smelled of sweat and leather, an aroma that should have made her pull away from him, but she was so lost in desire that it smelled like the finest of French colognes. It was only at that moment that she realized how much she had missed him.

When they drew apart, she gave voice to the thought. "I have needed you so much," she murmured, leaning her forehead against his. "I never want to be away from you again, Bernard."

"You don't have to be," he answered firmly, "because I am never letting you go. Never." He looked down into the slate-grey eyes that were gazing up at him with a world of happiness in them. "Would you like that?"

"I would. Even while I was angry with you, I knew I needed you." Her voice was husky and loaded with emotion, and her eyes shimmered with tears of joy.

"Will you marry me, Janice?" he asked, then held his breath.

"Yes," she whispered.

Yet, he was still doubtful. "You realize that you will be the wife of a humble man? Someone who has to work for a living?"

Janice kissed him again. "I already work for a living," she reminded him. "And we can still live here, or near here. My father did not leave me destitute. He reasoned that despite his only daughter being a hardheaded, stubborn, opinionated woman, she would need a dowry one day. He had more hope than I did." She chuckled.

"His only daughter," Bernard said fondly, drawing her close again. "Will we have to ask someone for their blessing? I am only a workman and not a squire or a knight or a laird."

"Bernard, I have to marry sometime, or so everyone keeps telling me," she answered, rubbing his bristly cheeks with her hands, making him chuckle. "I am of age, and I do not need anyone's permission, but if you insist, we can ask the laird if he approves of my choice of husband."

"And if he does not?" Bernard was still unsure. "What then?"

"I will marry you anyway," she assured him. "I would rather not have it that way, but I love you, Bernard, and I will spend the rest of my life with you or with no one."

They shared another heated kiss to celebrate her promise, and this time he cupped her breast with his big hand, squeezing it gently and grinding his stiffening erection against her.

Janice moaned as he ignited her desire once again, then common sense broke through after a moment. They were standing in the middle of a large public room engaged in a very intimate and passionate act, and anyone could walk in at any moment. Besides that, an afternoon spent in the herb garden planting sage and parsley for the kitchen garden had rendered her absolutely filthy.

She stepped back, and he let her go with some reluctance.

Then something occurred to Bernard. "The laird? Who is the laird?"

Janice tapped on his head with her knuckles as if she were trying to knock some sense into him.

"Alasdair, of course! Remember the contest? Where we met?"

Bernard looked horrified. "Is he running the estate?"

"Yes. We both are, but he has changed a lot," she replied. She looked down at the filthy rag she was wearing. "I have to go and clean myself up. I have been planting herbs in the kitchen garden all day."

He frowned. "Do you not have a gardener to do that?" he asked, puzzled.

"I do—several," she answered, then shrugged. "But it is so much more fun to do it myself with the kitchen maids. They are much better company than the stuck-up people I usually have to deal with."

"Is that why you love me?" He shook his head, laughing. "Because I am not a rich man with airs and graces to spare? You are a strange woman." He pointed at the rag she was wearing. "Is that how your dress came to look like a sack of oats?"

"Indeed it is." She grinned. "Now, my love, it is time for me to bathe, and I suggest you do too. Would you like a tub in your room or a dip in the loch?"

"Will you join me in the tub?" he asked eagerly.

Janice sighed. "I wish I could, but perhaps not yet. Alasdair worries about what people will think, and although I could not give a fig about the opinions of others, I have to be mindful of him. He is the laird, and although we have a unique relationship, some standards must be shown to be observed."

Bernard nodded understandingly, and she led him out into the atrium and ordered a room, a bath, and a meal for him, as well as a bottle of wine.

"I will come to see you soon," she murmured. "Then we will go to see my brother."

"One last kiss," he murmured, before sweeping her off her feet and kissing her until she was dizzy.

When their lips drew apart it was to see a ring of household staff around them, all grinning, and a few clapping.

Bernard smiled at her lovingly. "To your chamber, milady?" he asked.

"Only to the door!" she replied, very loudly.

Lying in the bath, Bernard could not repress a feeling of blissful unreality. Everything he had ever wanted was now within his grasp. The woman of his dreams was his, now and forever, and even if he never became a rich man, he had no need of anything beyond enough to eat, clothes on his back, and a roof over his head. It could not be possible…could it?

His mother had always taught him that if he worked hard enough he could achieve anything, and at the time he had thought that she meant fame and riches. Now he had all the riches he had ever wanted, and that did not mean Janice's sizable dowry. The thought of that made him deeply uncomfortable.

He sipped the wine she had sent him, thinking of the night they had kissed and almost, but not quite, made love. Even thinking of Janice was enough to make him hard with desire for her. He stood up and dried himself, then put on the only clean set of clothes he had before striding out and descending the stairs to the small parlor closest to the main entrance to the castle.

When she had woken up that morning, Janice could not have forsaken the changes that were going to happen to her that day. She had eaten her breakfast and then went over some of the estate's accounts with Alasdair. After that, he had gone out riding on his best grey gelding to visit some tenants.

He did this dutifully twice a week, sometimes taking Janice with him, and she was gratified to see that the tenants' attitude toward him had changed. Because he now treated them like real people, they began to treat him, first with wariness, then with grudging respect, then with the real thing. Although they still regarded Janice as their real laird, Alasdair was carving out a place for himself.

His real passion remained the buying and selling of horses, however. He had loved them since he was a boy and was quite an expert. Therefore, his knowledge meant that he had something to contribute that had always been outside of Janice's field of expertise. He could also do arithmetic so fast that it made Janice's head spin, but it helped her greatly with the accounts.

Andrew had disappeared the day after the contest and had left a note saying that he had been welcomed into the home of Laird Nisbet to court his daughter, Elaine, who, it was rumored, had a dowry half the size of Scotland.

"Ah, well," Janice said resignedly when she heard the news. "Perhaps he will find true love there. I hope so."

The old laird had smiled, then erupted into another fit of coughing. When he had stopped and recovered his breath, he looked up at his daughter, who was bending over him anxiously. "There is not much time left, my dear," he had said sadly for the thousandth time as he caressed her cheek. "Find a good man to marry and raise children. I care nothing about the family name. Alasdair and Andrew can take care of that. I want you to have a good life."

"I will, Da," she had promised. "There is a man out there for me somewhere—I know it." Yet even as she smiled at her father, Janice knew that there was no one.

Now, all that had changed.

Janice, fresh and perfumed after her bath, donned a plain but elegant woolen dress in the same slate grey as her eyes. She looked at Kitty and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"How do I look, Kitty?" she asked.

"Ye look lovely, mistress," her maid answered, smiling. "An' I am sure yer young gentleman will think sae too."

Janice smiled. "I hope so. I have been waiting for him for a long time."