Beyond the Highland Mist

Page 26

Adrienne stepped into the sunshine and breathed as deeply as she could. Honeysuckle, a beloved scent from her earliest youth. Buttercups sprawled in golden beauty beneath the windows to her right and left. Lavender on the air, rugosa roses, and another earthy rich scent she struggled to identify. She heard the tinkling of water spilling into a basin. A fountain? Following the sound, Adrienne traipsed the stone walkways through towering bushes of rhododendrons, lush anemones, bluebells, and scattered forget-me-nots. Stone paths shot off in several directions, but the tinkling sound of water drew Adrienne unerringly. The Lady Lydia sat upon the ledge of a stone fountain that rose in four tiers, high above her head. A full-size stone dolphin poised atop the fountain, caught in mid-leap, spouted water from its open snout.
“Magnificent,” Adrienne breathed, and Lydia turned to greet her with a welcoming smile.
“My son is quite the inventor.” Pride was evident in every gentle line of her face.
“He did this too?” Adrienne grimaced.
“Most of the unusual aspects of Dalkeith are of my son’s making. When he traveled he sought the most advanced secrets of civilization to bring back to his people—”
“When he traveled the world seeking beautiful bed-mates,” Adrienne interrupted acerbically, recalling the words of the Comyn maids.
Lydia cocked her head, an amused gleam in her eyes. “Is that what they say?”
“Is that what he did?”
“What say you ask him yourself? But think well on this, Adrienne. What would people who didn’t know you well say of you?”
“Point taken,” Adrienne conceded, hoping Lydia never discovered her colorful past.
“Mad Janet,” Lydia observed softly. “You don’t seem a bit mad to me. Why did the Comyn keep you locked in that tower?”
Adrienne recited the words he’d pounded into her the day of her wedding. “I was too beautiful to risk his own men seeing. So he said.” She added her own words without thinking, “Truth is, I’ve never felt that way.”
Lydia snorted. “Have you never seen a glass?”
“Of course I have. But I still never felt that way.”
“Rather like the Hawk, I believe,” Lydia remarked. “He told me once that he knew he was good-looking only because of the way women fussed over him. That if women hadn’t made such a hubbub, he would have just considered himself reasonably neat and clean—”
“Reasonably neat and clean?” Adrienne said incredulously. “The man is flawless from head to toe! He makes David and the Greek gods and Pan seem all out of proportion. He is raw sex in a bottle, uncorked. And somebody should cork it! He’s—accck! Bah!” Adrienne spluttered and stuttered as she belatedly realized her words. Lydia was laughing so hard, tears misted her eyes.
When Lydia was able to draw a breath, she gave a pleased sigh. “Well, that’s a relief. I wasn’t sure you weren’t immune. He thinks you are. Don’t worry. ’twill be our wee secret, dear Adrienne, and do come sit beside me so I can tell you how glad I am that you’re here. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here to give you a proper welcome when you arrived. From what I’ve heard, they all botched things quite terribly.”
Adrienne found herself wanting to rush headlong into the closest thing to mothering arms she’d ever known. Her hardened heart slipped on treacherously thin ice—dare she? Dare she not?
Behind bushes of blood-red rhododendrons a shadow flinched. I hate her! Hate her! Esmerelda’s hand trembled as she raised the tube, then steadied it sharply. She would dispatch the enemy, and end her torment. She puckered her lips around the mouth of the tube, keeping level the tiny instrument of death. She drew a deep breath and forced a sharp burst of air from tight lips. A tiny dart erupted from the end of the hollow chute, as small as the stinger of a bee. Esmerelda watched as the dart flew home to embed itself in the pale flesh of Adrienne’s neck. She smiled with satisfaction as Adrienne slapped briefly at the wound, as if shooing away an irritating midge. Esmerelda squinted hard—she could see the glistening tail of the dart shine in Adrienne’s neck as she spoke to Lydia. Done. The deed was done.
“Where is your husband, Lydia?” Adrienne slapped sharply at her neck. “Midges? Already?”
“We have our share. ’Tis the reason for the nettings upon the beds during this season. A bit of mint seems to keep them away. I stuff some in my pockets and tuck a leaf or two in my bodice.” She offered a few leaves of her own and Adrienne accepted them gratefully. “As to my husband …” Her eyes grew dreamy. “That impossible man left me over thirty years ago. He died right after Hawk was born.”