Page 30 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

His sister hurried toward him, her pretty face more round than when he had last seen her, and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the hearth.

“Dare! I did not want to wake you. I hoped you would not hear me down here.”

He embraced her, then stepped back. “How did you know I was home?”

“I saw Linhope last night at my mother-in-law’s house. Linhope stopped in to see my brother-in-law, Hugh Cameron. When I heard you had just arrived, I thought there might be no one here to ready things for you. So I took a gig and came over. It was just a short distance.”

“Efficient and thoughtful as always. But driving yourself now—should you? How are you feeling?”

She patted the high arch of her belly. “Very well. Linhope thinks I should be fine for weeks yet. He has promised to help if needed. Ewan expects to be home before the birth. We have until nearly Yuletide, several weeks yet.”

“Your surgeon husband should prove useful.” He smiled.

“Indeed. Linhope said you brought a surprise from London, but did not say what.”

“I am glad he left it to me.” Dare smiled.

“What is it? Did you bring the bonnet I asked for?”

“Sorry.” He suddenly remembered his promise to stop at a certain milliner’s shop in London to pick up a bonnet. “I forgot. Can they send it?” He grinned, unable to help himself.

“Of course. What is it? Why are you smiling so?” She shook his arm.

“Have you made tea?”

“Tea and porridge. Do not change the subject!”

“Prepare tea for three, would you? We have a guest. Well, not quite a guest.”

“Alasdair Iain Drummond, amadan amaideach, tell me! Who is your guest?”

He had not heard all his names in years, including the nickname their childhood nurse had sometimes called him. He smiled wider. Amadan amaideach—silly fool—always made him chuckle.

“In your condition, perhaps you should sit.”

“Alasdair amadan!” She folded her arms. “Tell me! Who is your guest?”

His smile sobered. “Not my guest. My wife.”

Gasping, she set a hand to her chest. “Wife? You, married? Who? When?”

“The day before yesterday, in London. I married Miss Hannah Gordon, Sir Archibald’s daughter.” His lip trembled. Suddenly it felt so important to tell his sister his news and see her joy.

“The painter?” She stared. He nodded. “You married his daughter? I am so happy. And so confused.”

“Aye so.”

“The Gordons… I have heard of the family but have not met them. How did this happen? And why did you not tell us?”

“It happened quickly, though I have had it in mind for a while. There was no time to tell anyone. When I was in London, I saw her at the College of Arms. And she—well, it was just the right time. I feared she might slip away from me.”

“What brought this about? Did you elope? Was there a—reason for it?” Her hand flexed on her upper bosom and concern flickered in her hazel eyes.

He took her hands in his. “Just be happy for us. All is well and I will explain.” He was not yet sure how much he wanted to share.

“Well, if you took the leap at last, your lass must be very special.” She tipped forward to kiss his cheek.

“Very.”

“And she is upstairs? Oh, my.” Nell patted her hair, smoothed her gown. “Let me get the tray ready. Will you bring it to her?”

“Sit and rest. I will ask if she is ready to come down so we can have breakfast together, and tell you more.” But not all of it, he reminded himself.

Guiding Nell to a kitchen chair, he found the tray he and Hannah had used the previous night and set the tea things on it. Nell stood to fetch scones warming atop the brick oven, and stirred the porridge in the kettle.

“I was distracted. The porridge is burned on the bottom.”

“I like it that way,” he said, though he did not. He stacked scones awkwardly on a plate. “That will have to do. Is there butter and jam? The larder is fair empty—”

“I brought some things—oh! Good morning!”

At Nell’s remark, Dare looked up and saw Hannah in the kitchen doorway.

“Lady Strathburn, my dear Hannah,” he said, “meet Lady Cameron—Mary Eleanor Drummond, wife of Sir Ewan Cameron. My sister, Nell,” he added.

Nell took Hannah’s hands. “My dear, I am delighted to meet you!”

“And I you,” Hannah said, leaning as Nell kissed her cheek. “Strathburn mentioned you. He said you were very efficient, and here you are doing this for us when you need not. But thank you!”

Nell laughed. “Efficient enough to let myself into my brother’s house early—I keep a key—thinking the lonely lad needed porridge and tea and his sister’s company.”

Dare laughed with them, and then the women chatted and worked together to gather tea and scones, butter and jam, and fill bowls with porridge, adding honey and cinnamon to disguise the burned taste.

He helped set breakfast on the small kitchen table, drew up chairs, and found the linen napkins himself.

He said not a word, just smiled, enjoying their instant camaraderie and the sound of their laughter.

Last night in this very room, he and his bride had shared a late supper that had led to hours of contentment, bliss, and a sense of love such as he had never felt before. Now, he felt the warmth of family affection renewing in his life, a blessing indeed.

But a frown crossed his brow. He wanted this to last, wanted never to look back.

Yet a cold shiver chased down his back, for he felt in his gut that Dove was still very much a threat.

He had not paid the man, and had no intention of doing it.

But he did not trust the man to give up.

Though Dare intended to hasten to court to start actions against Dove as soon as he could, that would not enough if the man came north looking for them. And he did not put it past him…

Hannah’s mention of Charles Dove last night had reminded him how determined the senior Dove was to ensure his son’s success. And Hannah had created important drawings that Charles knew about, and that his father would want to secure.

He smiled, accepted more hot tea poured by his beautiful wife, and kept his thoughts and fears to himself.

“I like your sister very much. She is so bold and charming, and seems like a friend already.” Hannah leaned toward Dare to be heard over the chatter of others in the restaurant at the Waterloo, Edinburgh’s new hotel, a palatial building that boasted three dining rooms, coffee and tea lounges, and fifty bedrooms. Dare had said he might like to test out some of those fashionable rooms with her, to which she replied that his very fashionable house served that purpose perfectly well, and more economically.

“Nell loves you too. I knew she would.” He smiled.

“I wish she could have joined us this evening. It would be nice to have another woman at the table when your friends arrive.”

They waited for Linhope and two others to join them, and she glanced toward the door hoping to see the physician.

The central dining room at the Waterloo was lofty and elegant, with dark-paneled walls, glittering candlelit chandeliers, and rich carpets underfoot; a dozen tables were set with white linens and gleaming silver, crystal, and French porcelain.

She glanced around, taking in the splendid surroundings.

“Nell is hostess for her ladies’ society group this evening. They do charitable work in the Highlands, teaching in schools, helping crofters’ wives, and so on. I wish she would rest more these days, but she is stubborn.”

“I think it runs in your family,” she said.

He huffed at that. “Could be. Well, Linhope will look in on her, and her husband will likely return from Ireland in time for the birth. He comes back often enough, but plans to retire from the regiment now that he has a growing family.”

“He must be valuable in the Irish position.”

“A surgeon and lieutenant colonel in the regiment, aye. Ireland has its issues, but it feels like a reward after one has served at Quatre Bras and Waterloo, where some of us were together. Interesting that this hotel is named for that damnable place,” he added, picking up his wine glass to swirl its pale golden liquid.

“It was named for a victory, though many recall dark days there.”

She slid her fingers under the tablecloth to cover his hand, which rested on his thigh. “You never told me much about it,” she said. “Your hand.”

He shrugged. “Burned when I dragged a fellow soldier out of a fire that sparked in the brush from gunfire. I doused it, but the poor fellow’s jacket had been in flames.

He had a long recovery ahead, though I did a bit better.

Linhope dressed the burns and saw me through it.

So did Nell’s husband, Ewan Cameron, who was a surgeon there too.

But that is all is in the past,” he said, wrapping his fingers around hers.

“And if not for you, dear lass, today I would still be a surly bachelor with no romantic prospects.”

“You were never that!”

He grinned. “But I could have been, had I not been rescued from that fate by a beautiful damsel. Ah, here they are.” He stood as Linhope and two men crossed the dining room.

Linhope, his hair a golden sheen, greeted them and introduced his companions: Hugh Cameron, a lawyer and older brother to Nell’s husband Ewan; and Ronan MacGregor, a Highland lawyer and distiller. Hannah thought him especially handsome, with nearly black hair and stunning blue eyes.

As they had dinner and talked, Hannah saw how relaxed the men were with each other, good friends who were more like brothers than acquaintances.

She soon learned that their friendship stemmed from days shared in school and the military as well.

Each man was intelligent, genuine, and of like mind with Dare.

And each was charming toward her, drawing her into the conversation; she certainly knew men who would not have done that.

“Luckily, I did not need to go up into the Highlands to find the distiller,” Linhope told Dare. “Ronan was already in the city for the week.”

“Luck indeed,” Dare said. “So Linhope explained our dilemma?”

Ronan MacGregor nodded. “I am happy to supplement your whisky cargo. I will send word to my brother to ship several kegs to Leith. They should arrive in a few days.”

“Thank you,” Dare said. “We are proud to introduce your excellent Glenbrae whisky to the king.”

“And we will get it to him legally, with no hint of smuggling,” Hugh said. “Unconscionable that a fellow in London wants to accuse you of smuggling for bringing that stuff down. Good thought to delay the shipment for a bit.”

“Though a little danger adds to the flavor of a good whisky,” Ronan drawled.

“True,” Dare laughed. “I mean to go with the cargo this time.”

“You will go south so soon?” Hannah felt a sinking disappointment at the thought of him leaving.

He nodded. “I should have accompanied it to London before, but the provost’s office made the arrangements and chose the whisky too. Would you like to come with me, my dear?” he asked. “Just for a few days. We would be introduced to the king.”

Hannah hesitated, not wanting to risk seeing Dove or the others. But she did not want to be parted from Dare so soon. “That would be lovely.”

“I will ask Sir Walter to make an appointment to introduce us. I believe he is still in London for a few weeks.”

“Mr. MacGregor, do you have much trouble with smugglers?” Hannah asked.

“There are always smugglers about in the Highlands, Lady Strathburn, some in my glen too. Highlanders learn to look the other way. My brother and cousin run much of the distillery and I lend a hand there. But I am usually busy defending Highlanders in court against some harsh laws. I’m in Edinburgh to appear in the Session Court on behalf of a jailed client. ”

As the men talked, Hannah realized they were not just good friends sharing dinner, but they were working together to ensure that the whisky cargo was protected, legally and physically.

They’d obviously been told of Frederic Dove’s threats and wanted to be prepared.

Ronan MacGregor did not care if the king liked his whisky; he just wanted to help Strathburn. The others felt the same.

She listened quietly, prouder with each passing moment that she was Lord Strathburn’s wife, and grateful to gain good friends and new family through him. What had been such a disaster in London was turning to a blessing and a privilege. Yet the reminder of Frederic Dove unnerved her.

Riding home in a hired carriage, though the distance was not far, she leaned against Dare’s shoulder. He tipped back her bonnet to kiss her brow and set his arm around her.

“You have not asked to see the drawings for the king’s armorials,” she said.

“I’m waiting for you to offer.” He smiled. “Tomorrow I will go to the heraldry office. Will you come along?”

“If you need me there.”

He drew her into his arms. “Just now, I am thinking of other needs, dear lass. We can talk about your drawings later.” He bent to kiss her in the dark of the carriage, the rocking motion bringing her closer as his lips found hers again, making her anxious to be home.

Home, with Dare of Strathburn, in the dark.