Lord of the Highlands
Page 22

But he didn’t see the malice hidden from him, a reptilian smile that curved slowly at Jamie’s mouth.
The stroll back to the house had been a misery. Will hated his slow pace. Hated even more to be the object of his brother’s scrutiny. Jamie walked alongside him, making idle chatter, but Will knew that his brother would’ve been taking great pleasure in the plodding gait.
By the time they reached their mother’s drawing room, Will’s simmering anger sought release. And it took aim at the most vulnerable of targets.
Felicity.
He’d spent a lifetime taking great pains to fortify himself against his brother’s attacks. That she’d made him vulnerable to Jamie’s scorn infuriated him.
They walked in and there she knelt, by his father at the window. They’d been at Duncrub for a few days now, and he kept finding her just there. He wondered what she could possibly be thinking of, trying to engage his father.
Sunlight canted in at an angle, pricking bright white strands in her blonde hair. Her prettiness mocked him, fueling his anger.
“Felicity.” He bit her name out, hating the feel of his brother at his back. Hating the sight of his once strapping father, now drooling and decrepit, staring dumbly out the window.
But then she turned, greeting him with such a look of open pleasure, he had to grip his canes to fight his knees from buckling.
“Will,” she said, smiling. Then he saw her eyes go cold as she looked to his brother.
And Will swelled with pride, in that moment feeling Felicity’s beautiful smile to be the greatest victory of all.
“I’ll leave you then,” Jamie said with a chill in his voice, “for the family reunion. Be sure not to tip Father dear over, Mistress Felicity. He’s best approached as more a decorative element than actual additional company.”
“Jerk,” Felicity said as Jamie left the room. She curled her upper lip in a little sneer.
Will fought not to beam at the darling sight of it. How often he’d made his own sneers at Jamie’s back. “If by that you mean my brother’s a scurrilous jackass of a human being, then, aye, he’s a jerk indeed.”
“Jackass?” She giggled. “Shouldn’t you say something like, I don’t know, knave, or blackguard instead?”
“What, and all seventeenth-century men must speak as though we’re John Donne?”
“I don’t know who he is, but William Rollo, I think you just made a joke.” Her face stilled in amazement, and the light in her eyes cracked his heart as a chisel would stone.
Felicity stood, and she felt a pang letting go of the moment they’d just shared. She didn’t know what it was that had just happened, but she did know she wanted to discuss Will’s dad before his jerky brother came back in the room.
She beckoned him closer, but Will had gone back to looking at her as if she had the plague.
“Come on, I won’t bite.” She felt a little flicker in her chest, wondering what it meant that he had such a response to her. “Come here. I want to show you something. With your dad,” she added, getting impatient.
As he approached, Felicity tried to see Will’s father as he would see him. He’d clearly been an attractive man in his day. And he wasn’t an old man by any means, by modern standards at least. She estimated he was in his sixties, with Will’s thick, waving hair turned silver, and the same bright, hazel eyes.
And though his face was a frozen mask, it was those eyes that gave him away. They danced with light, and she was shocked that no one could see it.
“Will, your father’s not senile.”
“I’d rather not speak of—”
“Now look,” Felicity said, ignoring him. She leaned in and pointed to the right side of his father’s face. “See how this side of his face looks different? Your father’s . . . spell . . . or whatever it was that your mom called it, wasn’t a spell at all.”
She stood and, speaking directly to the older man, said, “You, sir, had a stroke.”
Will only watched her. His skepticism was so frustrating. He should be jumping for joy, but all she saw was his grief, simmering just below the surface.
“A stroke,” she repeated. “It’s like a little explosion that happens in the brain. Well, I don’t know how it works, but Will, your father’s still in there. He’s just having trouble moving.”
She put her hands on her knees to lean closer. “Have you ever tried asking him to blink? Like, having him blink if he understands? Seriously,” she said, looking up at Rollo, her frustration growing.
Will’s silence had been annoying her, but now it seemed like he was ignoring her outright. “Am I the only one who can see that the lights are on in there?” she asked, raising her voice.
“There’s no cause to—”
“To yell? I’ll yell if I want to. I don’t know why you’re not listening to me. The poor man has been left to just sit here. Will, your father—”
“Our father can’t help you now, Willie.”
Jamie stood at the door, chuckling. “Lovers’ quarrel?”
Felicity opened her mouth to give the creep what for, but Will shot her a glare so sharp and so abrupt as to silence her at once.
“I heard the commotion and simply had to bear witness. A woman who can get a rise out of my brother?” Jamie made a lewd sneer. “Well, I doubt you could get a rise out of him. He is a cripple, after all.”
Jamie wasn’t half the man his younger brother was, and she wished Will would just walk across the room and clock him one with his cane. But Will merely stood, straight as an arrow, so still he seemed to have stopped breathing.
“Easy now!” Jamie laughed. “I jest, I jest. But I see I must guard my words.” He walked to Felicity. “I’d have you believe the best of your future brother-in-law, dear girl.”
“She is not—”
“Not”—he interrupted Will at once, his eyes narrowed—“your intended?”
Felicity’s heart fell. Weren’t they supposed to be pretending a betrothal? Didn’t they kind of almost have a betrothal?
Jamie turned his attention to her, his eyes roving her body in a slow and overly familiar sweep.
She crossed her arms, feeling suddenly overly exposed in the low-cut gown. Dream on, punk.
“How could it be?” Jamie mused. He waited until his brother’s back was turned to add in a voice pitched suggestively low, “Then perhaps I’ll be the one to curry your favor.”
Chapter 14
Felicity loved the shush-shush sound her leather slippers made along the slate-paved floor. The long corridor was dim and empty, and wearing her new gown she felt like some distinguished and mysterious lady making her way back to her boudoir for the evening.
Or maybe like an impassioned, melancholy nun. Like one of those women in The Sound of Music.
Well, maybe not a nun. Someone very grand, though, certainly.
The door to what Will had referred to as the solar was open, and she peeked in, gasping at the sight. Light slanted in through ceiling-high windows. An elaborately carved hearth framed one end of the room, which was furnished with a few small sofas, a card table, and writing desk.
Writing desk.
She decided suddenly that she’d love a little bit of paper. Just a sheet or two. Just enough to write a letter to Livvie. Even if it didn’t get delivered for a few hundred years, it would be a way to communicate with her aunt.
She looked up and down the hall and darted inside. The chair gave a squeak as she sat, and she grimaced, her heart pounding. It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong, she assured herself.
Just a sheet of paper.
Then why did she feel so nervous?
Gently she pulled open the door of the slant-top desk and the hinges gave a hideous squeal.
Ooh . . . fast fast fast. Just a quick peek. Just for paper.
“May I help you?”
Oh damn. She let loose an exaggerated grimace while her back was still turned. Did it have to be his mom? Felicity felt her face go twelve shades of red.
“No,” she said, mustering her dignity. Pasting a smile on her face, she looked over her shoulder. “I was just looking for paper.”
“But of course.” Rollo’s mother glided into the room, an exquisite vision in royal blue, her hair pulled back sleek and tight at the nape of her neck. She came to stand over Felicity’s shoulder. “You’d be wanting to write to your family.”
“Oh, yes.” You have no idea, lady. If only she could write to her aunt and get some advice on how to handle this situation.
“I’ll see to it that paper is sent to your room.”
Felicity stammered a thank-you, then stared dumbly, waiting for conversational inspiration to strike.
Your son sure is hot, Mrs. Rollo.
Wow, you really are an ice queen, ma’am.
“You have a lovely home, Lady Rollo.”
That got the frost to melt a little bit.
“Thank you.” His mother gave an august nod, the queen humoring her subject.
Felicity smiled broadly. She shoots, she scores. The old Felicity Wallace charm could warm up the iciest of grande dames. “Duncrub Castle is so much more . . . gorgeous . . . than I expected. Will had told me it was more like a manor house than a castle. And he was right.”
“Indeed?” The Lady Rollo pursed her lips.
“Oh, yes.” We’ll be fast friends. Maybe she’ll teach me to embroider. “I expected turrets and flags.”
“Truly?”
“Yes.” Was that a flicker of humor on his mom’s face? Felicity smiled hopefully. I’ll get her to warm up and she’ll be like the mom I never had. She gave a good- natured giggle. “And maybe even a moat!”
“Mm-hm.”
“But this isn’t like some old, cold castle at all,” Felicity said, imagining her and Will’s children running around the grand halls. They’d do things like play cricket, or whist.
Will’s mother eyed her, then asked carefully, “Where did you say your family was from?”