Lady of Two Lairds

Chapter One

Chapter One

One week later

Duncan’s powerful presence filled the room. She sensed him stealing up behind her.

The laird’s strong hands closed gently but firmly on her hips. The heat from his hands burned through the thin cotton of her nightgown, pressing into her soft flesh with possessive fervor.

The moment she had been craving for years had finally come.

“Phyllida.” Duncan’s breath caressed the side of her neck, causing her eyelids to flutter closed. He pulled her back against him, sliding his hands from her hips, across the soft, feminine roundness of her belly. His palms came to rest flat on her ribcage, the index fingers of each hand brushing dangerously close to the undersides of her breasts.

Leda allowed her weigh to rest against him. She reveled in the protective masculine hardness of his body pressed to her back. Duncan made her feel so safe and warm. Her eyes flew open when the hardness of his arousal pushed into the crevice between her buttocks.

Her breathing deepened and she put her hands over his, allowing her fingertips to explore the warm skin, veins, and crisp dark hair of his strong hands. His breath, husky and ragged now, pulsed in her ear, beckoning her with erotic promises. “Duncan, I failed you. I’m so sorry.” She began to cry.

“Hush now,” he told her.

In silence, they gazed through the open window at the trees and lawn of the estate. In the far distance, rolling green hills dipped down to Loch Garmond in the far reaches of the glen.

“My beautiful Leda,” Duncan whispered. “I forgive you.” The husky tenor of his voice, more potent than the finest whiskey, sent thrills of heat through her loins, and her heart ached with the release of her guilt. His forgiveness was the sweetest, most healing balm.

Slowly, tentatively, he slid his palm upward, of her ribcage f

to the soft swells of her breasts…

Leda sat bolt upright, her chest heaving. She clasped a palm to her forehead, collecting herself. She’d had similar dreams about Duncan for the last five years, and they always shook her. But none so badly as this one.

The moist summer breeze wafted in through the open window, gently lifting the gauzy white curtains. The early pink of sunrise showed itself above the distant hills.

Her s*x still pulsed madly from the dream and her n*****s tingled against her nightgown. The sensations filled her with guilt. Because of her incompetence, Duncan was burying his beloved Caitlynn and their stillborn child this very day, and she, Phyllida, did not even have the decency to suspend her romantic desire -- no, her lust -- for the clansman she had secretly loved for years. Especially when it was her fault that Caitlynn was dead.

Leda exhaled and fell back against the pillows, her heart clenching painfully. She balled her hands into fists to stop them from trembling. For the millionth time, she ran over all the possibilities in her mind, watching herself staunch the flow of blood that had drained Caitlynn of life. She had employed every ounce of the knowledge of midwifery and nursing her mother had imparted to her. Still, the horrible sense that she could have done more haunted her, like a burr under her skin.

Sagging more deeply into the bed, she stared at the sunrise. The estate already felt darker and gloomier without Caitlynn, the beautiful woman who had brought light and laughter to the overburdened, duty-bound laird. Cait had been a stark contrast to her husband, who carried the weight of his responsibilities with a heavy air. Duncan had surprised everyone who knew him during his short marriage, for he’d made up in those five years for all the laughter he’d missed.

Now Caitlynn was gone, and Leda had to live out the rest of her days knowing she had killed her.

Suddenly, Leda remembered that Ian, Duncan’s younger brother, would be home this morning for the funeral. She and Ian were the same age and had grown up most of their lives together. The thought of seeing him, her childhood playmate and best friend, was what propelled her to throw back the comforter and push herself away from the soft depths of her mattress. She stepped into her slippers and crossed the bedroom to her wardrobe. Pulling open the wide doors, she considered what to wear. Not that the selection was wide. She’d always preferred an everyday uniform of blouse, trousers, sweater, and Wellies to skirts and dresses.

In spite of her sadness, Leda smiled at unbidden memories that rose in her mind.

Caitlynn, who had been the embodiment of femininity, had tried a thousand times, unsuccessfully, to break Leda of wearing her masculine garb. Even though Leda had always felt like a lummox next to Duncan’s wife, her masculine clothing had shielded her, kept her invisible from the eyes of men, especially Duncan’s. If he didn’t notice her, it was much easier to ignore the fact that he could never return the affection she harbored for her guardian. Besides, no one could ride horses, climb hills and trees, and scout the banks of a loch in a tea gown.

Audrey poked her head inside the door. “Do ye need a hand, Miss Leda?”

Leda smiled at the woman, her peer in age, and as far as she was concerned, social status. Before her father was lost at sea in his fishing boat, Leda had spent the early years of her life in a rustic cottage in the Orkneys, and there had never been servants. She had never truly grown accustomed to being waited on. “I don’t think so, Audrey. Thank you.”

Audrey frowned and bustled into the room anyway. “I donna’ believe ye, miss.” In a whoosh of starched skirts, she went to a chest of drawers and fished a corset and dark stockings from a drawer.

Leda sighed as she pulled a dark skirt and blouse off their hangers.

“Let me do that, Miss Leda.” Audrey crossed the room briskly and ushered Leda to her dressing table. With practiced fingers, the maid swiftly undid Leda’s long braid and brushed out her hair. “Yer hair is so pretty.”

Leda heard the sympathy in Audrey’s tone. She knew the young woman’s words were meant to soothe and distract. All the same, she considered her long, sand-colored hair that fell in smooth waves under Audrey’s gentle hands. “Do you really think so?”

“I wouldna’ say it otherwise, miss.”

She watched Audrey coil her hair and pin it swiftly into an elegant topknot. The pleasant tug on her scalp was relaxing and reminded her of all the times her mother had brushed and braided her hair for her when she was small.

Unbidden, a memory of her dream skittered across her mind, sending ripples through her. It was Caitlynn, actually, who had spoken to her of the mysterious, sensual world of pleasure between men and women. Caitlynn had rhapsodized to her often about her husband’s eyes and the passion smoldering in their depths. She felt heat creep into her cheeks. “Thank you, Audrey.”

“Ye’re welcome.” The dark-haired girl smiled. Sympathy radiated from her dark eyes.

“I wish you would call me Leda,” she said softly. “I mean…after what we’ve been through together.”

Audrey cast her eyes downward, looking shy. “Aye, miss, I mean, Leda.” She looked back up, a flush of warmth spreading through her as their gazes met in the mirror. Her smile then faded and she put a gentle hand on Leda’s shoulder. “I know ye did all ye could for her, miss ... Leda.”

Audrey’s voice caressed her pain and Leda swiped at a sudden errant tear with the heel of her hand. “Thank you, Audrey. You’re very kind.”

They watched their reflections a moment, and then Audrey set the hairbrush down on the mahogany dressing table. “Let’s get ye dressed, then. Master Ian will be here any moment. I know ye’ll want to greet him.”

“Aye, I will.” Leda pushed up from the dressing stool, suddenly very anxious to see her friend. He had left his tour in Italy the moment he’d received the telegram about Cait.

Audrey helped Leda lace her corset and hook her stockings onto the garters.

She had just finished dressing and gone downstairs when the motorcar pulled up in the gravel driveway. The top was rolled down and Leda saw the smooth flash of Ian’s chestnut hair. She went swiftly to the driver’s side, catching her breath at how handsome he looked, even in mourning garb of somber gray tweed and a black tie. His green-gold eyes took her in as soon as he opened the door and stepped out. Leave it to Ian to be unable to hide the mischievous delight in life that characterized him.

“Leda,” he said softly. He opened his arms to her. “Come here.”

Without thinking, Leda stepped into Ian’s arms, enveloped immediately in compassionate warmth. She felt his lack of blame and rested in the comfort, even though she knew the truth. Like Cait, Ian, too, had a way of bringing light and cheer into darkness. The Golden Man. Cait’s nickname for Ian now surged into her mind. Indeed, his presence was a stark contrast to his elder brother’s dark, world-on-his-shoulders sense of life. Without wanting to, Leda found herself releasing the tears she suppressed in Duncan’s presence. “It’s my fault,” she sobbed.

She felt Ian’s hand gently stroking her hair. “It’s all right, little swan,” he murmured close to her ear. “You’re not to blame.”

Leda allowed her weight to sag against Ian’s broad chest. His athletic frame offered a comforting wall of strength.

Ian squeezed her gently. “Thank God you were there for her,” he went on. “Perhaps she would have suffered worse without your comfort.”

Leda sobbed quietly for another moment into the coarse tweed of his jacket before lifting her face. Ian was well over a head taller and she had to crane her head back to look into his eyes. Like Duncan, Ian had a strong set to his jaw and a handsome cleft in his chin.

His lips were arched in a masculine way and high cheekbones accentuated the planes of his clean-shaven cheeks. “Thank you, Ian,” she whispered hoarsely.

He brushed away her tears with gentle fingertips. “There now, lass. You’ll be all right. I promise.” He smiled gently down at her, his lightly tanned skin crinkling handsomely at the corners of his eyes.

His touch sent unexpected ripples of pleasure along her spine, a welcome contrast to the ache of guilt that had been her constant companion since Caitlynn’s death. When he released her, Leda suppressed a cry of disappointment. Ian’s strength and warm arms around her left her with a craving for more comfort and protection. She wanted to latch onto him and never let go. To her relief, Ian slipped his arm companionably through hers.

John, the head butler, had already pulled Ian’s valise from the trunk of the car. Leda saw from the size of Ian’s bag that he only meant to stay a short time, a few days perhaps, before he would return to his young gentleman’s tour of Europe. A deep sense of desolation swept over her, as if he’d already left.

“Where is he?” Ian asked as they went up the wide stone steps to the front door.

Leda’s stiffened at the reference to Duncan and she tightened her hold on Ian’s arm so as not to stumble. She hesitated. “He spends most of his time locked up in his study.”

Ian looked down at her, his hazel eyes studying her intently. “Like when he came back from South Africa?”

Leda thought of that period when Duncan had returned from his service in the Boer War. He’d been sullen and quiet, speaking only in terse phrases, having more whiskey than usual. She nodded slowly. “Worse, I think.”

He sighed. “I shouldn’t wonder.”

John held the wide carved door open for them. They stepped into the front entry, surrounded immediately by the dark wooden paneling, displays of the MacGregor arms, medieval tapestries, and the black and white tiled floor.

“Ian, I’ve barely seen him since…that night. I don’t dare approach him.” She felt a fresh rush of tears heat her eyes. “I feel certain he…hates me.”

Ian stopped and turned to her, his hands on her shoulders. “Has he said that?”

“No, but after Caity died ...” Her lip trembled and she struggled to say the words, “He looked up at me and I saw the blame in his eyes.”

Ian squeezed her shoulder gently. Sympathy shone in his eyes. “He couldn’t hate you, Leda. He knows you did all he could. If he did look at you that way, it would only be because he feels powerless and must blame someone. Just give him time.” He touched her cheek.

“You’re our little swan.” Smiling down at her, his eyes darkened with a strange expression Leda had never seen in them before. Just as quickly, it vanished.

At that moment, John entered the hall and informed them that breakfast was ready.

Ian released her and stepped back. “You go ahead, little swan. I’ll be along in a minute.

I want to find Duncan.”

Leda nodded, disappointed to be away from Ian’s comforting presence for even a few moments. She turned slowly, moving in the direction of the dining room.

The voluminously long table had been set with a silver breakfast service. Sighing, she took her seat at the end and poured herself a cup of tea. In the nearby fireplace, a crackling fire took the morning chill from the room. Her stomach tightened at the prospect of seeing Duncan, and she sipped her tea, remembering Ian’s comforting words. He had sounded very certain that she wasn’t responsible for Cait’s death. He seemed to have utter faith in her goodness. In the moment he’d held his arms out to her, he had been the truest friend she’d had since her mum died.

She remembered the feel of Ian’s arms around her, gentle yet strong. In spite of the carefree spirit he presented to the world, he had a core of strength, so different from, and yet so like his brother’s. She had felt it. He had let her lean on him, something she had never done before. She felt loved and cared for.

Ian had grown into as handsome, kind, and wonderful a man as he’d been a childhood friend.

Footsteps echoed in the hall outside the dining room. Her heartbeat quickened and she put one hand over her heart, struggling to catch her breath, fearing she’d panic if Duncan walked in. She relaxed when she saw Ian.

He came over to the end of the table and seated himself. The sparkle in his hazel eyes had dampened. “He wouldn’t come in to breakfast,” he told her softly, as he unfolded his napkin and draped it in his lap.

Leda nodded. Tears of both relief and guilt flooded her eyes. She fought them back and looked down at her plate. “It’s because I’m here,” she whispered.

Ian’s silence confirmed her statement.

Her lip trembled and her stomach tightened, making the food on her plate as appealing as rat poison. “I told you. He blames me, doesn’t he?” She stared at Ian. Panic rose when he avoided her gaze.

“He’s not thinking clearly, Leda,” he said finally. “He’ll come around. I know him. He loved Cait. Somehow he was able to be himself when he was with her. I’ll talk to him.” He gazed at her with earnest concern.

The affection in his eyes seared her, and she felt her heart latch onto Ian even more.

He looked at her again and reached his hand to her arm. “I promise, little swan. I will speak to him.”

* * * * *

The minister’s voice droned in the background, reciting Biblical verses about life and death, times and seasons, to the mourners huddled around the grave in the gray mist. Leda glanced at Duncan. He had been her guardian since his father, Malcolm MacGregor, passed away two years ago. Malcolm, who’d been dear friends with Leda’s mother, had asked Duncan to watch over Leda until she was twenty-five. Duncan had always made certain that Leda had all the advantages a young lady should have and she was grateful to him. He was not obligated to care. He could have sent her back to her native village when Malcolm died. But he hadn’t. This is your home now, Leda, if you wish it, he had told her one day in his study. You’re a MacGregor. He’d been pacing in front of the large fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, its strength unhidden by the tweed jacket he wore. In spite of the grief over his father’s death, his tone and the expression in his dark eyes were kind.

Perhaps it had been those words that had sparked her first womanly affection for him.

She’d wanted very much to stay, and he’d not only let her stay, but had emphasized the fact that she was one of them.

Duncan would probably no longer care what happened to her. Or worse, he’d want her to leave Glenparry and suffer the rest of her life knowing she’d let Cait die. He’d remained locked away in his study since Cait’s death, yet Leda felt certain that, as soon as he emerged, he’d order her to pack her things and leave for Orkney.

The newly widowed laird of Glenparry stood on the opposite side of the grave, staring into the gaping hole that held his wife and bairn. His chiseled, stone-like features, framed by raven-dark hair, seemed frozen.

His grief hit her with such force it might as well have been a physical blow to her stomach. The image of Duncan kneeling at Cait’s side, gripping her hand, begging her to fight for her life, haunted her. Since that moment, anger and sadness had closed over him like a shroud, as if he were burying his heart in the grave with Caitlynn.

He never looked up, staring stonily into the grave.

Leda bowed her head, her cheeks burning from remorse and the gaping well of sadness that engulfed her. She covered her eyes with one gloved hand as tears welled in her eyes.

Suddenly, she felt someone grasp her other hand, squeezing it warmly. She looked up into Ian’s face. He smiled at her briefly and stood next to her, his shoulder touching hers, holding her hand. Leda allowed her weight to sag just a bit against him.

With the second shovelful of earth on the coffin, the graveside gathering began to leave, filing back to the carriages and motorcars on the road. Still hand in hand, Leda let Ian lead her to the car that would take them back to the house. She squeezed his hand, gleaning strength from his touch. She dreaded the prospect of sitting in the large, airy parlor full of black-clad mourners, but knowing Ian was there with her made it bearable.

Leda sighed. She had not felt this sad since her mother had passed away five ago. Her father had died in his fishing boat off Orkney when she was a bairn, so she did not remember him. In the years since then, however, death had visited the MacGregor clan enough to last her for many lifetimes.

Ian squeezed her hand, pulling her against his side as they walked to the car.

Leda glanced at his handsome profile, taking great comfort from his kindness.

He helped her into the backseat of the motorcar and slid onto the seat beside her, once again putting his arm about her shoulders.

She allowed her head to rest against his shoulder.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

She caught her breath as the driver pulled out onto the road.

Ian’s body against hers was warm and strong, making her feel as if, just maybe, things really would be all right. She turned, snuggling closer against him, wishing they could just ride on forever, just like this.