Winnifred hesitated, pen poised, before crossing an item off her list. The dowager marchioness seemed to enjoy ordering the meals for the day, and Winnifred didn’t want to usurp all of her mother-in-law’s duties. The woman barely tolerated her as it was.
She sighed, and looked out the window of her snug parlor. Finding her way as the new marchioness was proving difficult. It wasn’t like one of her experiments. In her father’s laboratory, she could test different hypotheses, observe the results, and move on to the next one if a theory was disproven. No judgment over an incorrect speculation. No consequences aside from lost time if her research proved faulty.
Here, one false move and social ostracism could result. Or worse. The servants seemed a friendly lot, but they reported to the steward, who would report any concerns to Sinclair. Or to Deirdre.
Banquo lifted his head from her feet. She bent down to scratch behind his ears. “If only relationships with people were as simple as they are with you.” His tail thumped in agreement. Horatio blew out a breath from his bed on the settee, his upper lip flapping.
“Well, time to get to work.” She picked up her list. Putting the pen back in its inkwell, she pulled a piece of lead from her desk and marched from the room, the dogs at her heels. The tour from Deirdre had been delivered at a brisk pace, and Winnifred hadn’t been able to examine her new home as thoroughly as she’d wished. As its marchioness, she wanted a detailed accounting of it, and of any problems that might need remedying.
She would prove to her husband that she would be a useful and competent wife.
She started at the top of Kenmore, spending more time than was required on the ramparts and in the corner turrets. It struck her anew. Her, unimportant Winnifred Hannon, now Archer, lived in a castle. She ran her hand along the rough stone inside one of the larger turrets. The space was empty, but the view from the window … breathtaking. A family of red deer grazed near the outskirts of the woods. Two boys stood hip-deep in the loch, casting out nets in hopes of catching supper. If the sun had been shining brightly, it would have been a perfect summer day.
She wandered the space, pushed open a rotting wooden door which led to a small closet. If she had some shelves built inside, brought up a desk and some bookcases, the turret would make a grand laboratory.
Her heart twisted. Without her father, she had no excuse to run an experiment or correspond with fellow natural philosophers as his nominal assistant. Because she was useful, her father had accepted, even encouraged her endeavors. But she was a wife now, a marchioness, and that part of her life was ended.
She sighed. “Come on, boys.” She wound down the staircase, the dogs at her heels, until she reached the battlements. One of the crenellations had crumbled, the stone looking as though it had eroded away. She scratched some notes on her list. Repairing the castle’s defenses was low on the list of priorities; an attack in this day and age was absurd. But she didn’t want her home to crumble down about her. “Time to explore the rest of the castle.” She checked each room, looking for anything that might need to be repaired, cleaned, or replaced. Her list didn’t grow overmuch; the marquess and his servants kept Kenmore in excellent shape. There was little that needed her attention. Little for her to do.
She found a door near the necessary on the lower floor and pulled it open, its hinges squawking. She made a note. Oil. She tapped her lead against her notebook and looked through the door. Complete darkness blanketed the entrance. Banquo lay down and whined.
“We just need a candle, silly. Nothing to be afraid of.” Tucking her lead and notebook into a pocket in her skirt, she marched back to the nearest hall table and pulled a candle from an ornate five-pronged silver candelabra.
She looked back into the rectangle of black. Replacing the candle, she picked up the entire candelabra, and crept forward.
The door led to a set of narrow steps, curving slightly and going down so deep she knew she must be under ground level. The air was dank, heavy, and the candles illuminated only a couple feet in front of her. She moved slowly, looking for any holes in her path, and thankful the two large dogs had followed her down. Marvelous creatures, dogs. Even when scared themselves, they remained stalwartly by her side.
About one hundred feet in, the dark began to lighten. A few steps more and she saw the exit to the tunnel she was in. The ground sloped up at a gentle angle, clumps of chickweed softening the path underfoot. Roots dangled from the ceiling, eventually giving way to glimpses of sky and broken beams as the roof of the tunnel rotted away. Winnifred quickened her step until she stood at the entrance.
One of the dogs leaned against her side.
“I know.” She stroked his head. “A secret passage. How exciting. I wonder what it was used for and where it has led us.” They must be close to Kenmore, but all she saw was a rocky hill tufted with thistle underneath the dreary, grey sky.
Something shuffled behind her. Winnifred turned and held the candelabra up high but could see nothing but pitch. She stepped forward, peering. “Hullo?”
Her only answer was heavy breathing. Wood scraped against wood.
Winnifred froze. “It’s I, the, uh, Marchioness. Show yourself.”
Horatio pressed against her legs, and she stumbled to the side. She patted his head. “It’s probably nothing. Just—”
Something hissed, the sound slithering through the dark, wrapping around her, turning her feet to lead.
With a howl, Banquo reared onto his hind legs then charged – straight out of the tunnel. Horatio followed, hot on his heels. Leaving Winnifred alone.
Traitorous beasts, dogs.
Something charged, the sound of feet pounding against the dirt growing louder. With a cry, she turned to flee, but the beast had grabbed her skirts.
“Get off! Get off!” She shrieked, kicking her feet out, and made glancing contact with the most dastardly badger she’d ever laid eyes on.
It was about three feet in length, with a wide, squat body. Its dark eyes glared at her from its striped face and its tiny tail twitched in anger over her trespass. Fabric tore, the sound rending the air, and the beast staggered back, a jagged square of blue muslin in its teeth.
Seeing her chance, she picked up what was left of her skirts and ran as fast as her slippered-feet would carry her. Daylight was only feet away. She looked back, swore the animal’s eyes glowed red with loathing, and ran headlong into an immovable object.
“Winnifred!” Sin grabbed her shoulders. “I heard you scream. What is it?” He swung her around, peering down the tunnel, looking back over his shoulder, turning his head every which way.
She pointed a shaking finger back down the tunnel. “Badger!” Her chest heaved, and she dragged in shallow breaths.
He squinted, tilted his head. “I must have misheard. For a moment I though you said ‘badger.’”
Grabbing his hand, she stepped back, pulling with all her might to drag him away from the danger. “Huge, possessed-by-the-devil badger. We’ll have to get a new castle.”
His lips twitched, pursed. “Because of a badger.”
She peered back down the tunnel. Nothing. No hissing, no glowing eyes. The badger had gone back to wherever he’d holed up.
Her shoulders inched down her back, her tension easing. Only to be replaced by embarrassment. Heat crawled up the back of her neck. Dropping his hand, she touched her hair, making sure it was all in its correct place. Tilting her chin up, she tried to give him a look a true marchioness would: haughty, imperious, controlled. “It was a large badger.” She enunciated each word exactly. “And unusually aggressive. Most likely diseased. My reaction was only….”
She trailed off as Sin threw his head back laughing. His whole body shook with it, amusement dripping from every ounce of his being.
Winnifred blinked. She’d never seen a moment of such pure joy. He laughed freely, like a child without a care in the world.
All the emotions in her former home had been muted, faded. Mustn’t get too excited. Mustn’t let anyone see you’re upset. Even when she and her father celebrated a scientific success, it was with a firm handshake and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. When her mother had been taken from the house, all the life had gone with her.
Sinclair’s emotions acted like wine upon her. His joy seeped into her, warming her through. She hadn’t realized how cold she’d felt until she stood next to his fire.
Sin dug his palm into his eye, his laughter tapering off. “I’ll catch the wee, naughty badger for you, mo ghrâdh. Dunnae fear.”
Banquo slunk up to her and nudged her fingers with his snout. She rubbed behind his ear. “Do you realize that your brogue becomes more pronounced the more affected you are?” Like he wore his own mask, but powerful emotions knocked it down.
He sobered. “I hadn’t noticed.” Picking up a broken stick, he chucked it into the field, the dogs racing after it. Winnifred saw they were behind Kenmore. A small river that led to the lake was only a slight distance away. “Growing up in England, it seemed easier fitting in if I hid my accent. Made it easier to forget this place, and my duties to it.” He gave her a deprecating smile. “Easier to fit in with the crowd, too.”
She raised her eyebrows. Her husband stood a head above most men. Was as broad across as a bull, and his long, silky, auburn hair was unlike any other peers’. “A man like you could never fit in.”
Heat sparked in his eyes, the deep, piercing blue so unlike her own faded periwinkle ones. “Aye, that is so.” He stepped close, his body a shield against the breeze that lifted her hair. “Do ye like what you see, wife?”
Her cheeks heated, and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “Your form is pleasing.” Complimenting her husband couldn’t be taken amiss, could it?
He lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb along her lower lip before sliding around to grip the nape of her neck. “Pleasing. I’m glad. I very much want to please you, mo ghrâdh.” His lips hovered an inch from hers, his breath ghosting over her mouth.
Her nipples tingled, pulled tight, and her gaze flipped between his eyes. Was he speaking of their intimacies? Perhaps in the bedroom such talk wasn’t improper, but in a field in the light of day, it seemed … thrilling …. inappropriate.
If she leaned forward, pressed her aching body to his, what would the consequences be? Was this wantonness roiling through her inherited from her mother? Would it lead to the same place?
Her body cooled, and she stepped back.
Sin squeezed her neck once, his eyes narrowing, before dropping his hand with a sigh.
He looked to the tunnel. “Someday, I’m going to understand you. You can allow yourself pleasure.”
No, men could be free with their pleasures. Women had to take care.
She cleared her throat, needing to change the subject. “What is you call me? Mo something?”
“Mo ghrâdh. My love.”
Her back tensed. That hadn’t changed the subject in the direction she’d wanted.
Horatio trotted up, the stick crookedly held in his mouth. Winnifred tugged it free and threw it as far as she could. “What is the tunnel for? Did your ancestors use if for smuggling? Or a tactic to sneak up on invaders?”
He arched one burnished brow. “Nothing so interesting. It was used to carry goods that were transported by the river into the castle. There was nothing secret about it.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped.
Sinclair held out his arm, and she took it, turning with him to stroll around the castle to the front door. “It has gone forgotten for many a year now. But if there is a dangerous badger threatening Kenmore, I suppose it needs attention paid to it.”
He was teasing, trying to lighten the mood. And she was grateful for it. But she had never learnt the art of play. She didn’t know how to tease him back. “I have a list, a small one, of other improvements I believe Kenmore needs. If my saying so isn’t too forward, that is.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “With you, nothing is too forward.”