Page 47 of Return to Wildsyde

Lyall had determined to be rid of Luella once and for all and had a plan of how to achieve it. In so doing, he hoped to rid himself of the impatient sense of frustration that burned constantly within him. He even dreamed of her now, of that moment walking home from the Grants with whisky simmering pleasantly in his blood. Except it didn’t end with a kiss in his imagination. Oh, no. In his dreams, he took her to the ground and took everything he wanted until she cried out his name and he woke with a start, hard as iron and angry at knowing he must endure another day of balked lust.

His mother had been gone for over three weeks now, much to his father’s relief. In her place was Mrs MacLeod, a decent woman in her fifties who didn’t interfere with their lives more than she had to. She simply seemed grateful to have a roof over her head and three meals a day, since her husband died some years ago, leaving her living on a meagre annuity. Lyall didn’t begrudge her that security, though he resented having someone else under his roof who didn’t belong there. But if he could send Luella to stay with his mother, perhaps he could stop thinking about her. He could certainly stop tripping over Mrs MacLeod, who was always mortified if he noticed her presence in his house. There was a letter on his desk right now, asking his mother to invite Luella and Mrs MacLeod, and as soon as possible.

Now, though, with Jack’s words about them always having a home with him ringing in his ears it seemed cruel. Yet it would be the second time he’d put it off if he didn’t do it now.

Hell and damnation.

Leaving Jack to rub down his pony, Lyall stalked back to the castle.

Luella sighed, something shifting in her chest as she watched Lyall crouch down to speak to Jack. She could not hear what they said to one another, but she could tell it was serious. That he had taken such pride in Jack’s achievement had only made her stupid infatuation worse, if it could even get any worse, and the way Jack had hugged him…

She swallowed hard, seeing that whatever had been worrying Jack of late, Lyall had resolved. Jack clung to him, his face buried against Lyall’s shirt. Her heart hurt as she saw Lyall hug him back before ruffling the boy’s hair and sending him off with a parting shot that made Jack laugh heartily. Her brother was happy here, and he worshiped Lyall. That much was obvious. Sadly, Luella was in a far worse state than her brother.

She spent most of her days hidden in the kitchen with Mrs Baillie, absorbing as much knowledge as she could. Lyall knew this and never went there, so she knew she was safe. Jack and Mrs MacLeod ate dinner with her in the dining room, though Lyall never joined them.

Lyall. She had never actually called him that to his face, but he was Lyall in her daydreams, which were getting increasingly out of hand.

Mrs MacLeod was a dear, but Luella found she missed Lady Morven. Lyall’s mother was an intelligent woman with a wicked sense of humour and Luella had come to admire and like her. She thought perhaps the feeling was mutual. She hoped so, anyway. Lady Morven had certainly embraced her fondly when she’d left Wildsyde, giving her a wink and a gentle admonition to ‘have courage,’ though Luella was uncertain what she was supposed to be courageous about.

With a heavy sigh, she turned away and made her way back to the kitchen via the back door.

“There ye are,” Mrs Baillie said with relief. “I sent that daft girl to cut some salad, and she still isn’t back. Could ye take this up to the study for me? I cannae leave this sauce right now.”

Luella hesitated. She was in no hurry to see Lyall.

“Ach, ye need only set it on his desk and leave, lassie,” Mrs Baillie said, a knowing look in her eyes that made Luella’s cheeks heat.

She turned away before the woman could notice, though she had the distinct impression Mrs Baillie knew everything that went on at Wildsyde, with few exceptions.

“Never mind putting your apron back on, ye are no serving wench,” she scolded, giving Luella a critical once over. “Aye, Lady Morven chose wisely. That new dress looks bonnie with its tartan trim.”

Luella smoothed her hand over the gown, a little uncertain. The dress had been a surprise, arriving out of the blue. A gift from Lady Morven. The tartan trim was Lyall’s colours, and it gave her an oddly pleasurable sensation to wear them. What would he think, though? She could hardly be blamed for being presumptuous if his mother had given the dress to her. The idea of him seeing her wearing it made her feel more daring, even as her heart skittered behind her ribs.

“Very well,” she said, going to the tray of soup Mrs Baillie had left ready.

“Courage, lassie,” the woman called after her, winking as Luella sent her a doubtful glance, remembering Lady Morven saying the same thing.

She walked to Lyall’s study, her heart thudding harder with each step. Thankfully, he’d left the door slightly ajar this time in anticipation of his dinner, so she just tapped the door frame with the toe of her shoe.

“Come,” he called, his gruff voice making her breath catch in anticipation of being near him, if only for a moment.

Stop it, you great ninny, she scolded herself, and walked briskly in, head high, intending to set the tray down with a cheery word and stride out again.

“Good evening, my lord. Mrs Baillie asked me—”

She stopped in her tracks as she discovered him standing right in front of her, almost driving the tray directly into his chest.

“Steady!” he exclaimed, taking the tray from her grasp. “Ye are in a mighty hurry, lass,” he remarked, carrying the tray to his desk and setting it down for her.

“Oh, er… no. Not really. It’s just Mrs Baillie asked me to bring the tray up but I… I didn’t wish to disturb you.” She gave him a bright smile and prayed she wasn’t blushing.

“Not disturb me,” he repeated, his tone mild but the look in his eyes making her heart skip a beat. “Aye, we’d not want that.”

“Um. No,” she said cautiously, aware of the sudden charge in the atmosphere. Her skin prickled with it, and she did not know whether to run or take a step closer to the source of her agitation.

“Did ye come here to disturb me, Luella?” he asked, his voice a smooth purr of sound that made her breath catch.

“You know I didn’t. Mrs Baillie—”