Page 3 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

F aith sat on the back of a Connemara pony, one of two that had been bought specifically for her and Grace to learn how to ride on. Faith and her sisters hadn’t been able to afford lessons after their parents passed away, when they went to go live with their grandmother Alice in London. For her part, Faith had been content not to learn in her younger years. At four and twenty, Faith felt unsure that she could still learn something that most people learned during their formative years.

Graham and Hope had insisted on the lessons, though. The Connemara was considered a gentle breed for novice riders. Faith’s horse, a light palomino aptly named Sweetness, twitched its tail as they stood out before the stables of Lismore Hall the following day, waiting for Graham’s cousin, Jeanne Carlyle.

“I’m not sure what the point to this is,” Faith said nervously from her position atop Sweetness’s back, glancing at Grace. “I’m perfectly happy not knowing how to ride.”

“As am I, but it is what is expected of well-bred ladies,” her younger sister said softly, her gaze on Hope and Graham as they moved about on their own horses several yards away.

“I’d rather be painting. I’ve just started a new work, a landscape of the loch.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and it would be far more enjoyable to me than traipsing about the Highlands on this tiny horse.”

“Faith, it’s a kind gesture by our brother-in-law to provide us with the horses and the lessons. Hope would be pleased to no end knowing that we enjoyed them.”

“But we don’t enjoy them.”

“Hush, here they come,” Grace said before looking up with a broad smile plastered on her face. “A fine day for a ride!”

“Yes, particularly since we were rained out yesterday,” Graham said. “I’m still amazed you were so drenched, Faith.”

Faith had left a track of wet footprints through the foyer and up the stairs yesterday after returning from her unexpected encounter with Logan. Evidently, Graham had nearly slipped. She gave him an apologetic look.

“I am sorry for the mess.”

“It’s of no matter,” Graham said, turning his face to the sky. “But I believe the weather will hold out today.”

“I think so as well,” Hope said.

Faith sighed, noting Hope’s happiness as she gazed at her husband’s profile. The two were constantly doting on one another, which always made Faith uncomfortable to witness. In her experience, men were not to be trusted, and while Graham had thus far proved to be an excellent husband, save that whole nonsense about tricking Hope into marrying him, Faith couldn’t help but remain skeptical.

“’Allo!” The sweet sound of Jeanne’s voice carried on the wind.

Everyone turned to see a smartly dressed, coppered-headed woman riding quickly up the drive. Dressed in her favorite striped pattern, Jeanne Carlyle beamed as she reached them, riding upon a frightening black steed.

“My! What a darling pair of ponies, cousin,” she said breathlessly, addressing Graham first. “They’re as lovely as you described them, Hope.”

“Aren’t they?” She beamed. “Faith and Grace adore them.”

“Is that so?” Jeanne said, her knowing observation landing on Faith, who nodded politely. Jeanne had the uncanny ability to see through people; to Faith’s dismay, she winked. “Well, then. Shall we start?”

Turning her horse to the side, Jeanne reared back and let out a rough “Yah” as the black stallion neighed. She took off at a frightening speed.

Faith’s heart fell into her stomach. No, this was not how she wished to spend her day. She’d much rather paint these beasts than ride them. She had a soft spot for equine artwork. But with Hope’s encouraging smile, Faith forced herself to smile and fell into line behind Jeanne.

For nearly two hours, the company rode on grass roads and muddy paths, through fields and forests, up craigs, and down into valleys. It was a trying experience, and Faith was surprised by how much her entire body began to ache. Her sides, in particular, became more sore the longer they rode. It was truly a laborious experience.

After another hour or so, she trotted in tandem with Jeanne as they climbed a particularly uneven stretch of ground leading up to Stob Ridge, which overlooked the northern part of Loch Fyne.

Evidently, Faith’s face showed her discomfort.

“Not your cup of tea, is it?” Jeanne asked as the two settled into the back of the line.

Faith gave her an apologetic look.

“I’m afraid not. I’m not very good at this.”

“Ochs, you only need practice. Riding is really quite enjoyable once you’ve mastered it.” Faith doubted it and grimaced, but Jeanne only laughed at her expression. “Very well. Graham is going to take Hope and Grace the long way down, over the other side of the ridge and back around. But you and I can go this way,” she said, nodding to the west. “We should be able to come down around Harris House, to the main road.”

Faith knew that Harris House belonged to Logan, and she did not wish to see him. But the steepness of their current path was too much for her, and she gave Jeanne a stiff nod.

“Very well.”

Jeanne called out to Graham and told him their intended path. He appeared somewhat apprehensive, but Jeanne’s skill as a horsewoman was without question, and eventually he waved his hand with a nod.

Jeanne cut in front of Faith’s horse, and they steadily declined down the ridge. Though the morning sky promised a clear day, Faith could see far beyond the mountains. Dark clouds were rolling and billowing toward them.

Would there ever be any pleasant weather in this place?

After a half hour of silently steering their horses down the slope, grassy fields opened up before them. Faith continued on the well-worn path until she suddenly noticed Jeanne had stopped. Pulling her reins back, Faith followed her gaze to a little stone house built at the base of a mountain far in the distance.

It looked uninhabited, and Faith wasn’t sure what was so fascinating about it.

“What is it?” she asked after a moment, coming up to Jeanne’s side.

“Hm? Oh, ’tis nothing,” Jeanne said, though a pained expression could be seen plainly across her face.

Faith frowned.

“Are you sure? You seem rather sad.”

Jeanne’s horse shook its mane, stepping sideways, but she kept her eyes on the tiny cottage.

“It’s just… I used to come here. A long time ago, with my Duncan.”

Faith glanced back at the pile of rubble. She had heard only snippets about Duncan Carlyle, a man who had supposedly been the heart of his friends and family, though he was rarely spoken about. He had died in the Second Burmese War some five years earlier. Faith presumed it was too painful for most to talk about him, particularly Jeanne, who had married him just before he left for his campaign.

Unsure of how to be a comfort, Faith said the only thing that came to her mind.

“It must be difficult,” she began awkwardly. “To go on without him.”

Jeanne nodded slowly before glancing at her.

“Aye, it is. It’s been five years now and I’ve managed quite well. But, sometimes,” she paused, looking back at the structure. “Sometimes, it’s as if no time has passed. It’s as if he never left.”

Faith wasn’t sure what she meant, but she had never had a husband pass away. A loud rumble from above jostled them from their thoughts, and Jeanne took a deep breath.

“Come. The storm won’t wait for us.”

Faith was sure that Jeanne could outrun the storm alone, but she was not so talented a horsewoman and kept her mare going only at a trot. When the thunder boomed again, the skies opened up, and cold, unforgiving rain beat down on them, pelting them like tiny stones.

For the second day in a row, Faith was soaked to the bone in a matter of minutes. It might not have been all that terrible if the wind were not so brutal. It whipped around them as the rain turned to icy pellets. Even though it was midday, the world around them had been covered in sheets of gray rain, and soon Faith was shaking to keep warm.

“There!” Jeanne shouted after a while, pointing to a vague group of yellow lights. “We can take shelter and try and wait the storm out!”

Grateful for any chance to get off her horse, Faith followed Jeanne as fast as she could. As they rode closer to the lights, Faith realized that it was a house. A rather grand house made of red granite. It looked like some sort of Gothic castle, with turrets and parapets, though the entire structure seemed far more modern than an ancient stronghold.

They rode straight up to the front steps. The front doors opened immediately, and two servants in oversized brown overcoats came hurrying out, helping them down, one taking the horses as the other escorted them inside.

Once the doors had closed behind them, Faith could barely contain her shivering.

“Tell Sir Logan that we are here,” Jeanne said.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Sir Logan in not in. Miss Harris is in the drawing room, however, with Mr. Harris.”

Sir Logan ? Faith didn’t know that Logan’s father had been knighted—or that the two men shared the same Christian name.

Jeanne moved passed the footman just as a short, blond-haired woman appeared in the hallway several yards away.

“Jeanne? Is that you?”

“Arabella, dear, we were caught in the storm and are soaked all the way through. Might we press upon you to borrow some clothes before we catch our deaths?”

“Oh, my goodness, of course. Of course,” she said, coming forward. With a slight curtsy, she acknowledged Faith. “An unfortunate circumstance to meet under, I’m afraid. I’m Miss Arabella Harris.”

“Miss Faith… Faith… Achoo!”

“Oh dear, there’s no time for that. Follow me. Morgan?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Tell the maids to come at once and have the footmen bring hot water to the floral guest rooms. Have them gather my warmest gowns and have cook prepare something warm for our guests. Follow me,” she said as Jeanne came up to her side. “The floral guest rooms each have a standing bath, though I’m sure hot tub would be best for both of you.”

Faith had never seen a standing bath but had heard about them.

“I’m sure I am… am…fine—Achoo!”

Jeanne peered over her shoulder.

“Oh yes, you sound quite well,” she said sarcastically. “Graham is going to have me quartered if you come down with a cold.”

Faith wanted to argue that there was no reason to worry, as she had a strong constitution, but fevers were not to be taken lightly, and the chill in her body seemed to emanate from within. The sooner she was in a bath, the better.

The style of the home was rather fitting, considering its outward appearance. The second-floor hallways were painted emerald green and lined with dark-paneling chair rails. Faith followed the others as they took a left upon the landing and entered the second room on the right. White wallpaper adorned with dozens of types of blooms hung from the walls. Shiny, pale-wood furniture with white-and-green bedding gave the room a delicate springtime atmosphere, and though she was dripping wet, Faith felt instantly warmer.

“You undress here,” Arabella said, turning. “Jeanne? Follow me.”

Faith nodded as two maids came in to help her undress. Within minutes, a bath had been prepared in an adjoining room designed solely for bathing. Faith glanced around the tiled room, amazed. She had never seen a room like this, with copper pipes and ceramic knobs fitted over a white bathtub permanently fixed to the floor.

“In you go, miss,” the maid said as Faith stepped into the nearly filled bath.

Hot water surrounded her, sinking deep into her soul as Faith closed her eyes. She dipped her head back and tried to shake all the cold from her. The maids left her with a sliver of soap, and she worked it into a lather. She scrubbed her body as best she could, hoping to remove any remnants of a chill. After nearly half an hour, she found that she still couldn’t quite warm herself and decided to dress.

A pale-pink day gown, lined with gray trim had been laid out for her to borrow. She dressed slowly, with one of the maid’s help. It was too short, as it showed her ankles, but Faith was grateful to be clad in something dry. Thankfully she had also been provided with thick wool stockings and a heavy gray-and-purple plaid shawl. Her hair was combed out, parted, and plaited, then wrapped around together to form an interlocking half circle at the back of her neck.

A gentle knock at the door revealed Arabella, followed by another maid who held a tray. The scent of beef and vegetable stew filled Faith’s senses, and her mouth began to water. She hadn’t realized just how hungry being cold had made her.

“How are you faring, Miss Sharpe?” she asked, motioning for the maid to place the tray on a small, bird’s-eye maple table before a large window overlooking the northern woods.

“Very well, thank you,” Faith said. “And please, call me Faith.”

“Only if you call me Arabella,” she said with a cheerful smile. “I must admit, I had hoped to meet you sooner. I have met one of your sisters, Hope. But I understand you were in Italy with your aunt for the past six months. Is that correct?”

That was true. Faith had just returned to Scotland a few weeks ago. She, Grace, and Aunt Belle had traveled to Rome to visit with famed Italian surgeon, Dr. Ramaglia, in an effort to address Belle’s failing health. Thankfully, Dr. Ramaglia had some knowledge of what had ailed her and had saved Belle’s life by performing a rather risky procedure. Grace had apprenticed with the doctor during their trip, which left Faith to care for Belle in her recovery.

“Yes. My younger sister Grace and I attended to Aunt Belle during her stay there. She had an operation.”

“Did she?” Arabella asked, leaning forward. “How very interesting.”

A pause followed. Faith wasn’t sure why the young woman was staring at her so intently. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you so much for letting us invade your home,” Faith said, hoping to break the tension.

“Oh, of course, of course,” she said, shaking her head. “Goodness, you must think I have terrible manners. It’s just… You’re nothing like how I imagined you would be.”

Faith blinked.

“I’m not?”

“No. My brother always said you were… Well… You’re quite lovely is what I’m trying to say.”

Faith stared momentarily, unsure how to reply, as her cheeks warmed.

“Oh, well. That’s very kind of you. Although that leads me to believe that your brother’s description of me has been less than flattering.”

“Oh, you mustn’t take anything he says at face value. Logan can be… harsh. Especially with the English. I’d blame it on his time as a solider, but he’s always been rather, well, particular.” Arabella motioned to the chair. “Please, sit and eat.”

“Yes, something to do with our vitriolic histories, I assume,” Faith said offhandedly as she sat down.

“Oh no, it’s because of our mama.”

Faith paused just as Arabella took a seat across from her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Our mama was English. Or still is, rather,” she said, shaking her head as she looked down. “I never met her—not that I can recall. She left when I was a bairn.”

“Oh. I… I’m sorry.”

Arabella waved her hand.

“I’m quite immune to it. Having never met her, I hold no expectations, but Papa and Logan, well, they tend to have varying thoughts on the matter.”

“I see.”

A pregnant pause followed, and Arabella stood up.

“I’ll let you eat in peace then. This storm is a brutal one, I’m afraid,” she said, glancing out the window. A strike of lightning lit up the sky. “It doesn’t look like it will end soon.”

“Well, I’m very grateful for your hospitality.”

She waved her hand in the air once more as thunder rumbled.

“Think nothing of it. We are neighbors after all. And I dare say we may be friends before long.” With a nod, she turned to leave before adding, “Jeanne and I will be downstairs in the parlor, should you like to join us.”

“Thank you,” Faith said as the young woman disappeared behind the door.

Well, this was certainly not what she had expected. Arabella Harris was a kind, sweet-tempered young lady, not quite as old as Faith but seemingly more mature than most ladies her age. And she was very welcoming and friendly, as opposed to her brother.

Faith picked up her spoon and dipped it into the steaming, savory stew as Logan’s face crossed her mind. Where was he? Not that she cared, but shouldn’t the owner of the house like to make sure that those in his care were well? She supposed she couldn’t expect a man like Logan to have any real manners, yet she wondered where he had gone through the rest of her meal.

Having finished her soup, Faith left her room and found herself alone in a long hallway. She was curious about the estate and debated wandering about for a bit before thinking better of it. It would not do to go snooping about this house. And she certainly didn’t want to be caught in the act. So instead, she went to the staircase and walked down in search of the parlor.

Crossing the waxed parquet floor, Faith entered a stunning room. The walls were painted burnt orange and outlined with white-marble archways. Dozens of gold-leaf frames held paintings of various animals, from birds to hounds and, to her delight, horses. They were remarkable pieces, and Faith found herself studying one in particular, a dapple-gray steed atop a hill in a rearing position. The power of the animal had been conveyed so perfectly that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it ran right off the canvas.

“Faith?” Jeanne’s voice sounded, catching her attention.

Faith turned to see Jeanne and Arabella sitting across from one another before a grand fireplace with a roaring fire in it. In the corner of the room, in an overstuffed chair, sat an elderly man with a blanket draped over his lap. His eyes were closed and his upper lip twitched as he snored, in an almost comical way.

“Hello,” Faith said, returning to the painting before approaching them. “That’s a magnificent piece. It’s a Gericault, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I could not begin to pretend to know anything about it,” Arabella said, stirring her tea. “Are you fan of art, Faith?”

“I am,” she said, standing next to where her companions sat. “I have a great love for art. I even paint a little myself.”

“Is that so?” Jeanne said.

“And you like that particular piece?” Arabella asked, nodding back at the horse painting.

“Yes,” she replied, noting a small smile curve across Arabella’s mouth. “Is that amusing?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that that painting happens to be one of my brother’s favorites.”

Faith’s smile vanished.

“Is it? I didn’t know Mr. Harris enjoyed art.”

“‘Enjoy’ is hardly the correct word. Logan is obsessed ,” Arabella said, leaning forward and wiggling her brows in an exaggerated way as Faith sat down. A flash of lightning followed by a crack of thunder echoed throughout the room. “This storm is relentless.”

Faith glanced out of the cathedral windows, outlined in the same white marble as the arches.

“It does seem so. I hate to think how we will travel home.”

“Oh, but you mustn’t go,” Arabella said, frowning. “The winds are too violent. It would be safer to stay the night.”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t want to impose.”

“I insist.”

“But—”

Just then, the old man twisted and snorted.

“Hmm?” he said loudly before his eyes opened.

A faint blush shone on the bridge of Arabella’s nose as she stood up.

“Forgive my father. He’s not been terribly well recently,” she said quietly as she approached him. “Papa? Papa, we have guests.”

“Hmm? Oh, beg pardon,” he said, shifting in his chair.

He was a fair-haired man with sunken cheeks and dark eyes. There was a strange quality about him that Faith noticed immediately. He seemed far older than she would guess him to be, yet she couldn’t say what it was about him that gave that impression.

His dark gaze landed on Faith, and his brows perked up as he wiggled himself to sit up straight.

“Come now, who is this?”

“This is Miss Faith Sharpe, Papa. Lady Belle’s niece,” Arabella said, looking at Faith. “She lives in Lismore Hall, across the loch.”

“Is that so? Belle’s niece?” he said, leaning forward. “Lady Belle Smyth?”

“Yes, Sir Logan,” Faith said, dipping her chin. “A pleasure to meet you.”

But the man smirked and looked at his daughter.

“Did she call me sir?”

Arabella’s face became suddenly drawn.

“Oh, um, a misunderstanding, Papa.”

Faith bit the inside of her cheek. Hadn’t the servant called him Sir Logan?

“And English,” he said, interrupting Faith’s thoughts as his face lit up. “Well, what a lucky day indeed.”

Faith smiled warily.

“We were having a riding lesson when we got caught in the storm,” Jeanne said, sipping her tea. “It’s dreadful outside and the rain will not stop.”

“Ah, well, Scottish springs can be like that, I suppose,” he said, motioning to a chair beside him. “Come, Miss Sharpe. It has been ages since I’ve met someone new. Tell me, how does your aunt fare? I’ve always enjoyed her visits.”

Faith stood up and went to him.

“She’s faring quite well, although I didn’t know she visited here.”

“Oh, only sparingly,” he said with a cheerful grin, not unlike his daughter. “But then again, not recently either.”

“We were away, I’m afraid. On an extended holiday in Italy.”

“Italy? You don’t say.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “I never much cared for the Mediterranean. Much too warm for my liking. Now, tell me about this riding lesson. You were caught in this storm, were you?”

Jeanne spoke, giving Faith a reprieve as she watched the old man. Arabella was correct. He did not look particularly well and was dressed in clothing that had been out of style for nearly twenty years. But he was kindly, and he showed an earnest concern when he heard about their plight. He kept giving Faith curious glances, and though she was sure he didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable, she felt somewhat uneasy beneath his inquisitive gaze.

“—which is why I insist that they stay the night,” Arabella said as another roll of thunder bellowed around them.

“Absolutely, absolutely. I should hate to think what Lady Belle would do to me if I let one of her nieces go traipsing about the Highlands in a storm such as this.”

Faith tried to smile. It seemed she would not be leaving, much to her discontent. And once again, her displeasure must have been displayed on her face, for a frowning Arabella leaned toward her.

“If it would please you, my brother has quite an extensive art gallery here. He’s terribly proud of it and I’m sure he would be most eager to share it with you.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose on your brother.”

“Oh, it would be no imposition. Logan is vastly proud of it. Why, in fact, just yesterday he acquired a piece—”

“Who in the world has come to visit on such a day?” Logan’s deep voice echoed throughout the room, causing Faith to spin around.

There, beneath the marble archway, stood Logan, his body frozen at the sight of her. His solid form was tense and commanding, as if he were still serving in a regiment, flanked by his faithful mutt, Jaco. The dog’s tail wagged happily at seeing them, but Logan’s demeanor was the opposite. The recognition in his eyes sent Faith’s heart aflutter. Though she tried to ignore such a foolish reaction, waiting for his impending frown, she was surprised to realize that he only stared at her with wide-eyed fascination, as if seeing something about her for the first time.

How curious.

“You,” he said softly.

Swallowing hard at the low, accusatory whisper, Faith hoped against hope that he wouldn’t begin sparring with her in front of the present company.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” she said, stepping toward him. “But Jeanne and I were out riding and were caught in the storm. Your sister here has provided us with warm clothes and shelter, and if it pleases you, we shall be leaving shortly.”

“No, you really mustn’t,” Arabella protested.

“I’m afraid she is correct, Faith,” Jeanne said. “The storm is too boisterous.”

Faith persisted.

“If Mr. Harris doesn’t wish for us to be here—”

“Of course he doesn’t mind,” Arabella said, scowling at her brother. “Isn’t that right, Logan?”

“—then we should leave.”

“You will stay,” Logan interrupted suddenly, causing the rest of them to stop talking. “The weather will not permit you to do otherwise.”

Faith stared at him, sure that he was annoyed with the situation even if it was unavoidable. She nodded.

“Thank you, Mr. Harris,” she said, only to see him turn his back on her as he left the room.

Was there a ruder man in all of Scotland? Surely not, and yet, the look he had given her was far from his usual glower. It had almost been one of, well, desire.

Faith blinked. Then she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to stop her train of thought. What a preposterous thing to think.

“Do not pay any attention to my son, Miss Sharpe,” the elderly man said, causing her to turn around. “He’s rarely in a good mood, but we won’t let him dampen ours.” He looked at his daughter. “Now, what will we be having for supper?”