Page 4

As she walked along, she passed a printing press, a bakery, a modiste.

She paused in front of the modiste’s window, peering through the glass. Women lingered inside, chatting with each other as they carefully and excitedly chose the fabric for their new gowns.

How she longed for that. The brilliant colors, the fashionable styles. They would complement her so much more than the drab gray gowns she wore.

She looked down at the dark gray day dress she wore. The color alone made her sad. Never again would she wear this awful, drab color. Peering again through the window of the shop, her eyes flitted over the bright colors, taking note of the ones she liked best.

Once she made some money and got herself settled, she would visit the modiste herself and order a gown.

But it wasn’t only pretty gowns she missed and yearned for.

She longed for the camaraderie of good friends.

Confidants she could share secrets with.

Talk over tea, whether the talk be serious or light-hearted.

It would be so nice. She missed having a friend’s support.

She’d been so isolated these last few years with Victor.

Dragging her eyes away from the window, she continued on, pulling her bonnet tighter upon her head as a cool drizzle began to fall.

Drats. The rest of her tour would have to wait. She hurried back to the inn, and by the time she burst through the doors, her bonnet and gown were soaked through.

“Miss Jocelyn!” Flora exclaimed, rushing forward.

“I am fine, Flora. It is just a bit of rain.” She held her arms out as water dripped off her sleeves to puddle on the floor.

Flora lifted a brow, unconvinced. “Ye are soaked to the bone. Ye must be freezing.”

“It’s not that bad. Truly, I am well. There’s no need for you to make such a fuss out of something so small.” A forceful shiver ripped through her and her teeth began to rattle.

The girl shook her head and tsked. “Ye could catch your death. Let me have a hot bath brought up to ye,” she said, not waiting for Jocelyn’s agreement. “It will warm ye up and I can launder your gown.”

“I-I,” Jocelyn stuttered, at a loss for words. Such kindness from strangers was a welcome change.

“Go on,” she shooed Jocelyn toward the stairs. “I insist.”

“What are ye insisting on now, Flora?” The laird asked as he walked into the reception area, before he noticed Jocelyn and his eyes widened. “What happened to ye, lass?”

“She was walking out in the rain, my laird. Soaked to the bone, she is. I was insisting on a hot bath to warm her up.”

He cocked his head, eyeing her up and down, before nodding. “I agree. Ye dinna want to catch an ague from the chill.”

“Thank you.” Not knowing what else to say, feeling outnumbered and embarrassed from the attention, she quickly dropped into a curtsy. Is that what you do for lairds? She didn’t know the proper protocols and didn’t want to seem uncultured, so she made the move just in case before leaving the room.

He smiled warmly and Jocelyn noted how the gesture transformed his face. He really was a handsome man. His strong jaw looked like it was carved from stone. A small crook in his nose led her to believe that he may have broken it in the past.

“I shall have Flora bring up tea as well to help get ye warm.”

Jocelyn averted her eyes. She shouldn’t be staring. “T-t-thank you,” Jocelyn called over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs to her room. Moments later, Flora arrived with another servant and together they filled a tub with hot water.

Once the water was so high, Jocelyn was sure it would slosh over the sides the instant she stepped into it, Flora handed her towels and a bar of herbal soap.

“After ye’ve bathed, just leave your gown outside your door. I will pick it up and bring it to the laundress.”

Left alone, she stripped off the soaked garment.

Her skin was damp and pimpled in the cool air.

Testing the water with her hand, the temperature was perfect.

She stepped in and sank into the hot water with a sigh.

Instantly the tension melted from her muscles and she relaxed against the back of the tub.

Ever since she’d left Victor, her body had been tense. Her muscles bunched up, ready to flee if she happened to see him on any of her stops.

It was silly, but she felt safe here. She laughed, the sound loud in the empty room. She had only met two people here. Why was she already feeling a sense of peace? It made no sense.

Finishing up her bath, she toweled herself dry and dressed. Running a brush through her hair, she secured it in a chignon at the base of her neck, and gathered her wet gown, rolling it into a ball.

Not wanting to be waited on hand and foot, she refused to leave it outside her door. Since she needed to speak with the laird anyway, she would go downstairs and deliver it to Flora herself.

She found Flora wiping down tables in the dining hall.

“Och, miss. Ye could have left that for me to pick up,” she said as she reached for the wet gown.

Jocelyn handed it over. “Do you know where the laird is, by chance? I wish to speak with him if he has a moment.”

“I believe he may be in his study.” She draped Jocelyn’s gown over her arm. “If ye follow me, I’ll take ye there.”

Jocelyn nodded. “I would appreciate that.” She followed Flora through the inn and down a back hallway.

They paused at a heavy wooden door and Flora knocked.

“Aye?” Was the response from the other side.

“My laird, Miss Jocelyn would like to speak to ye.”

A few long moments passed, and Jocelyn wondered if he was going to come to the door, before it finally swung open. The smell of cherry tobacco wrapped around her.

His brows raised in surprise. “Is e’rything alright?”

She straightened her shoulders, trying to convey confidence that she didn’t necessarily feel. “It is. I wondered if we might have a conversation. If you have time, of course.”

“Aye, come in. Please.” He stepped aside and swept his arm in front of him, welcoming her inside.

Flora excused herself and scurried down the hall.

“Have a seat,” the laird offered, dipping his head toward the front of his desk, where chairs were set up side by side.

Jocelyn sank into the overstuffed wingback chair. The size of it seemed to swallow her up, making her feel small. But it was comfortable.

The laird’s study was warm and welcoming.

A fire blazed in the hearth. The logs crackled as they burnt, sparks flying up toward the shue.

The walls were papered in a dark blue and brown striped pattern.

His massive desk was covered with papers, books, and ledgers.

He sat in a brown leather chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, watching her with curious eyes.

Straightening, she said, “Thank you for meeting with me. I am sure you are busy, so I appreciate your time.” She smoothed the skirt of her gown with her palms, a feeble attempt to calm her nerves.

“First, I must apologize. I know you told me your name last night, but I fear that with everything happening, I have forgotten it. I mean no disrespect.”

He smiled, showing off straight white teeth. “None taken. Gunn Burnett.”

Gunn. Such a unique name. How could she have forgotten that?

“And you are a laird?”

“Aye. Laird of Leys.”

“I must apologize once again for not knowing the protocol surrounding Scottish titles.”

“Dinna fash. We arena such sticklers for following the rules as ye are in England.” He winked.

The gesture caught her off guard, and she momentarily lost her train of thought.

“Do I call ye laird? Or Sir Burnett? Or…”

He chuckled. “Really, ye can call me whate’er suits ye. Gunn is fine, though.”

Hanging on the wall behind him was a portrait of him in full military dress.

Pointing to the picture, she met his eyes.

“You served in the military?”

He looked over his shoulder at the portrait and nodded. “Aye.” His eyes darkened at the admission. “I served my time in Spain fighting and serving my duty to the Crown.”

“That must have been difficult,” she said quietly.

He nodded stiffly. “’Twas. I’ve been back for over a year now. Gladly so.”

“Thank you for your service. You are very brave.”

He dipped his head in thanks, but said naught further on the subject.

She couldn’t imagine the things he’d seen. Jocelyn had heard stories and they were quite disconcerting.

She nodded. “Right. Well, I am certain you are wondering why I’m here.”

“Indeed.” He looked around his study. “Ye ken ’tis no’ proper for us to be here alone. Ye without a chaperone. People may talk.”

She pursed her lips. “I am no maiden, sir,” she clipped. “I do not need a chaperone.”

Gunn raised his hands, palms turned out in defense. “Easy, lass. I dinna ken of your circumstances or how ye came to be in Kincardine. I’ve a sense ye have your reasons, and ye are free to them. ’Tis just uncommon for a lass to be traveling alone. And dangerous,” he added.

“I fared well, as you can see.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did ye? I canna help but notice the fading bruises on your skin. Did ye run into trouble on your travels?”

Jocelyn sucked in a breath. She knew the question would be coming sooner or later. With that expectation, she had concocted a story. She was hesitant to talk about Victor—and her escape. Who knew if Gunn would turn around and contact her husband and tell him to come collect his wife.

That couldn’t happen.

She brought her hand up to rub the corner of her eye. “I fear I am very clumsy. I’ve never met a door that I haven’t run into at least once.” She pointed to her face. “Running through an unfamiliar space is not suggested,” she said with a self-deprecating smile, hoping she was being convincing.

He did not look convinced though.