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  Shelves lined the far side of the room bursting full of books and ledgers of all sorts. A tidy sitting area flanked the robust fireplace with leather wingchairs, cracked from the heat of peat and timber fires. Occasionally, she read off the next step in the alchemy experiment. But her interest strayed from the task at hand and greedily consumed the presence of the study and thus the laird. When she neared the windows, Galen called to her.

  “Donna stand too close. The wind may just decide to enter.”

  She looked at him. A serious, if not dour expression was entrenched on his handsome face. She smiled, hoping to gain one in return. He visibly shuttered his expression and turned back to the table laden with bottles, weights, and liquids.

  Vowing to work harder at winning a grin, Vivian stayed by the window. Her gaze absorbed the mist oozing from the moors and the torrent of rain being released from heaven. With a fingertip, she traced a circle in the fogged window pane. The coolness of the glass eased some of the discomforting heat she felt when dealing with Galen.

  A branch scratched at the window, screeching across the pane with a vibrating loudness.

  “Step back.”

  He stood directly behind her, towering over her like a great oak shades the grass. He guided her by the elbow to the chair before the fireplace. His touch startled them both as they withdrew from each other as if burned. It seemed the darkness from the angry sky had breeched the windows and clouded the chamber with doubt and mistrust. Galen returned to his experiment without speaking.

  The silence disconcerted her. Her gregarious father usually babbled aimlessly, jumping from one subject to another. He’d often regale her with stories of her relatives, long ago entombed in the family crypt. With several great aunts who lived out their lives in spinsterhood, ‘twas a miracle her father and she were ever born. But Galen brooded over the ingredients, glaring at the liquids swirling in the glass jars and frowning at the less than impressive results.

  “’Tisn’t correct,” he grumbled after repeating the experiment for the third time. “The manganese hasn’t reacted.”

  Vivian drew up at Galen’s unmistakable displeasure. “I assure you, we’ve followed all the directions.”

  His withering look conveyed his disbelief.

  She folded the notes and tucked them into History of the World. She went to his side and grabbed the glass beaker he was swirling. Conscious of his every movement, she inhaled deeply before speaking. “And do you know how pure the contents are?” She squinted and watched the particles float and spiral as she too swirled the liquid.

  He leaned over her shoulder and watched along with her. His closeness unnerved her as she inhaled the scent of leather and him. “’Tis as pure as can be expected this far from Edinburgh.”

  “According to my father, Black only recognizes the purest form. Otherwise the results may be compromised.”

  Galen scoffed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Black is a charlatan.”

  Appalled, she countered, “How can you dispute his contributions? Why, he discovered fixed air.”

  Galen grunted and continued to stare at the crucible with innate interest. He grasped the rim of the bowl with wooden tongs so as not to contaminate the contents with his fingers.

  “I assure you, Laird Maclean, Black possesses the utmost knowledge in the realm of alchemy. When he visited my father, I found him to be courteous and astute.” She watched as a twinkle lit his eyes.

  A slow grin inched across his face. Oh dear, he was so handsome her heart fluttered in her chest. It brought light to his features, erasing the hawkish intenseness. “You held council with Black.”

  She hedged, blushing at being caught. “I. . .I met him when I served tea.”

  He laughed. A deep, husky chuckle that left her waiting for more of the pleasurable sound. “As I thought. Black is known for his disdain of women.”

  Galen allowed his gaze to sweep over her. He appreciated the simplicity of her outfit, deeming it appropriate for the task at hand. She wasn’t frivolous or faint of heart. And bollocks, she was lovelier than he thought possible.

  “Aye,” she countered. “He’s the only respectable scientist willing to travel to our home. I’d say that speaks for his character, despite how he feels about the fairer sex.”

  The rush to defend her mentor set a glow to her rose-bloom cheeks. Her eyes sparkled, making them the color of the heather Alice was forever embroidering on handkerchiefs. The change was subtle, but he noticed nonetheless how her dark lashes framed them in thick, black arcs.

  “What is important to realize, m’laird, is the elements must be refined and not mixed with peat. I remember my father was rather displeased when a batch of bismuth glance arrived mixed with peat. He immediately left and returned the soiled goods.”

  Her chest puffed with pride, he noticed, and she spoke with loving tenderness of her father’s insistence on only pure material. What a funny sort of woman she was. Beautiful, no doubt, with strength, and an interest in a decidedly male field. Galen leaned forward, ready to capture her full, inviting lips with his. As he neared, she watched him expectantly, an invitation conveyed with a sigh that slipped from deep within her. He brushed her lips with his and reached for her, knocking the crucible from the table. Glass shattered, splintering the moment with its ricocheting sound.

  Pulling back, he raked his fingers through his hair. Disappointment shadowed her face and tightened her jaw. ‘Twas better this way, he thought, for him to keep his distance.

  “You needn’t assist me any longer.”

  He dismissed the hurt that fluttered in her eyes like a wounded animal. He mustn’t allow her to lure him from his goal. For her own good as well as for his.

  She left without a backward glance.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, stilling the urge to go after her. He glanced out of the windows and kenned he should check the animals one more time.

  The rain drove hard against the earth. He looked to the stables, hunched his shoulders, and went to the cliffs. The sea raged against the storm. White caps nearly as tall as him crested, broke, and then lifted again.

  The tumultuous water failed to soothe him. Before, he’d walked along the cliffs and find peace. It was familiar, something he kenned, felt a kinship for.

  All because the experiment hadn’t spark. If that wasn’t enough, Vivian’s presence caught him off guard.

  His tongue filled his mouth, dry and rough. After their passionate embrace the night before, he thought she’d be the one who’d be nervous.

  She had seemed to glow with life as light radiated around her as she stood by the windows. The driving sleet and threatening sky framed her magnificently. Each jagged flash of lightning set a halo upon her mahogany hair.

  Then he remembered.

  It seemed a lifetime ago. The shouting, the threats. His father screeched at his mother for an insignificant blunder.

  He’d stood still between the panels of the secret passage, frozen in fear, aching to protect his mother.

  Glass had shattered. He fumbled with the release of the panel. His mother clung to his father’s charcoal gray surcoat—how odd he remembered the color—her body close to plunging out the broken window.

  Galen’s heart rose in his throat at the memories. Then he shook his head.

  Vivian. Freshness followed her like a sunray through the dismal halls of the castle. He loved the questions, curious and intelligent, in her violet eyes. He’d have to commission a brooch for her. Not that any gem matched her eyes’ stunning clarity.

  He rushed his fingers through his hair. His mind was charging in a dangerous direction—his heart hurtled right behind with hope, longing.

  He’d thought his heart was a rigid stone, hard from years of abuse from his father and neglect from his mother.

  Galen heaved a sigh and trotted to the stables. After he tended the sheep he ensured the doors were secured and headed back to his study.

  As he entered the rear of the kitchen, he shook his hea
d, dispelling water in all directions.

  He wanted to head toward Vivian’s chamber. The hurt spilling over in her brilliant gaze flashed before him, urging him to apologize. All she’d done for him and look how he’d repaid her. No, he must not encourage a relationship.

  Aye, her presence had chased away his loneliness. No matter, he must remember she’d be leaving.

  They always left.

  Chapter 13

  As the evening wore on, he couldn’t stay away from her. She drew him, like an untamed spirit, enchanting and full of promise. Searching her out, he found her with his servants.

  Vivian had taken what looked to be ashes and smeared them across her upper lip. A flowery scarf held her curly hair away from her face. Swaggering like a pirate, she crossed over to Liam, who sat attentively in a wing chair.

  With a saucy shake of her head, she lifted a booted foot onto the edge of the seat and leaned in. She pointed a finger at Liam who had the grace to appear chastised. Galen strained to hear what she said, but he was too far away.

  Vivian lifted her head back and released a throaty peal of laughter. Auld Alice chuckled and Liam stood and proudly executed a bow.

  The sound of her amusement eased over him like a wash of silk. He felt the pull of his heart strings as an unfamiliar emotion filled him, conquered him.

  Happiness.

  Seeing Galen, a frown crossed the old man’s weathered features. The festive energy deserted the room.

  Eyes cast to the floor, Liam began stuttering, “M’laird, excuse us. . .”

  He felt Alice’s stringent gaze. Stepping forward, he raised his hand to pat the stout man on the shoulder, but his arm fell back to his side.

  Liam ducked from the room, wringing his hands as he creaked past Galen.

  Vivian stood still, anger making her eyes so dark they seemed black instead of enticing violet. With one fist still balled at her waist, she wagged a finger at him. “We’ve done no harm, m’laird. No need to scare the poor lamb to an early grave with that scowl upon your face.”

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  “She has the right of it, lad.” Alice came away from the hearth, looking ridiculous in a flowered bonnet and shepherd’s cane.

  “I—“

  “Go apologize to him,” Vivian demanded.

  Dumbfounded, he turned to follow in the servant’s path. When he neared the kitchen, he realized that a slip of a lass had just told him—no, ordered him—to apologize. In his own castle, no less.

  And he wasn’t going to start. He headed back to the sitting room and the impudent woman who thought she was the laird of the castle.

  Galen returned to the sitting room and watched her undetected. As she walked, she pulled the scarf from her hair. Shaking her head, she loosened the tight curls. She wiped the soot from her lip.

  Bonnie lass or no, she had no right ordering him around. “Who do you ken you are?”

  Turning, she widened her eyes. With an obstinate snap of her head, she acknowledged his presence. “I assume you’re speaking to me?”

  “Aye, and who in blue blazes would I be talking to?” He rounded the plump settee and strode toward her with the sureness of an animal stalking its prey.

  A smile quirked on her lips.

  Vivian clasped her hands before her. “Do you have a quarrel with me, m’laird?”

  He was a breath away from her. He heaved with a feral growl. She held still, her smile wavering.

  “Never,” he said, still pacing, “never order me about.”

  Och, his manly pride was bruised. “Is that what you are angry about?” she asked with a chuckle.

  Stopping, he whispered, “You forget yourself, Vivian.”

  “Now, m’laird,” she said as if trying to pacify him. “Why don’t you sit down and catch your breath?” She led him to sit and then walked toward a sideboard and poured him a paltry amount of wine.

  The firelight teased around her with a caress. She paced slowly around the room as if to torture him with the fragrance of lavender, rose, and creamy skin.

  She turned. A smile tilted her lips and his resolve began to weaken. So easy would it be to take those lips in a smoldering kiss. No coyness, not even a hint of coquettishness glimmered in her expressive eyes. Only honest and innocent emotion such as he’d never seen.

  “Is something the matter, m’laird?” She crossed over to him with a graceful display of womanliness.

  Aye, his mind screamed. I am dying of my need for you.

  But he chose not to scare the life from her. “I’m well.”

  She gazed at him a moment longer, then her shoulder rose with a hesitant shrug. “I think I’ll go to my chamber and look over my father’s notes.”

  The mere mention of alchemy urged him to grumble.

  She stopped and touched his shoulder. “Are you sure you’re well?”

  Her smugness didn’t sit well with him. He nodded. It spoiled the mood and he followed Vivian with a lit candle as she entered the main hallway.

  “Good night, m’laird.” She proceeded down the dim corridor, candle sconces dripping tallow onto the flooring, directing the way to her room.

  Galen watched her. Feeling as if he should follow, wanting more of her presence and knowing he had no right to demand it. He must not stand in the way of her happiness or the chance of finding a suitable match. Soon she’d be gone. He only hoped he’d be able halt any burgeoning desire until after she left Mac Tìre.

  He refused to allow her to suffer as those close to him had. His mother, his father, himself. She was an innocent and he’d leave her as such.

  Alice entered her room with afternoon tea. “I’ll wet your tea.”

  Vivian nodded. She kicked a few pieces of clothing out of her way and sat in the chair snuggled close to the bed.

  “Now take a wee sip.”

  She accepted the cup, then Alice began picking up the room. Guilt welled up in her as she watched the older woman stoop to retrieve a woolen bodice. Why couldn’t she be neat?

  “Please, let me help.”

  Alice visibly bristled and set her fist at her waist. With an angry shake of her head, she replied, “Aye, and if the laird happened by?”

  Vivian waved a hand and chuckled. “He’s just a wee lamb.”

  Alice stopped and looked at her with such a peculiar smile on her face, Vivian blushed.

  “I can’t recall anyone ever describing the lad in that manner.” She bent to pick up the bodice. “A wee lamb, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  Why had she spoken? Her words revealed too much and Vivian kenned there wasn’t a future for her at Lomarcan with Laird Maclean. Rising, she began helping.

  “Miss Vivian.”

  She looked to the door and there stood Bernard, face stark with worry, twisting his hat between his large hands. “Aye?”

  “’Tis been an accident.”

  Immediately, she rushed to the door and grabbed his hands in her own. “Who?”

  Bernard shook his head. “’Tis Liam. He fell tending the sheep. In a bad way.”

  Vivian ran from the room, frightened for the dear man whose gentle soul shined in his eyes. She found her way through the darkened corridors, forgetting the demons lurking in the corners. Alice called to her to wait, but Vivian ignored her, not willing to wait for the older woman.

  She reached the servants’ quarters behind the quiet kitchen. Skittering to a stop, she saw Galen was already by the man’s side.

  Liam, his skin ashen, mumbled close to Galen’s ear. He nodded and looked to Vivian at the threshold. He shook his head and motioned for her to stay where she was.

  She gripped her chest. Och, she felt helpless, no doubt as helpless as poor Liam felt. Pain was etched firmly around his tightly pressed lips. Galen wrung out a cloth and swiped it over the injured man’s brow. She stepped closer, eager to assist and to find out what had happened to the man.

  “’Twas my fault,” Galen murmured.

  “How could that be?”
She rested her hand on his shoulder, bowed with guilt for Liam’s injury. “Tell me what happened.”

  Galen rubbed his face. After a shuddering sigh, he spoke. “He went to tend the sheep. They’d been cooped up. He worried over them like a doting mam.”

  Liam groaned and shifted in the bed. Galen adjusted the towel over his brow and tucked the blankets snug around his shoulders.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  “I asked him to wait. The icy rain has made it wicked outside.” He shrugged and stretched his neck. “But he didn’t. His leg was pinned beneath a rock.”

  Galen shook his head, as if he didn’t quite understand how the accident happened.

  She began lifting the covers. “And his leg? How is it?”

  Galen gripped her hand and pulled the blankets back down, but not quickly enough. Please don’t let me faint. Bone had ripped through the skin of his leg and blood pooled around it.

  “’Tisn’t a pretty sight.” His voice was raw with emotion, heavy and raspy.

  When he waved her away, she said, “I’ll find Alice.” ‘Twas obvious he didn’t feel comfortable with her presence. She understood. One of his family had been injured. But deep within her, in a tiny tucked away place, she had somehow hoped he’d begun to think of her as one of his family as well.

  Alice arrived and started assessing the injury.

  Vivian sat in the kitchen, rising every time Alice hollered for scorching water and clean cloths. She’d pass them to Madge or Nessa, who had risen to the stern duty of assisting the head maid.

  “Have Bernard make a splint,” Nessa ordered in passing. “Quickly.”

  Wasting no time, Vivian left the kitchen and found Bernard pacing the open foyer.

  “We need a splint.”

  Startled, he looked to her, his eyes rheumy with concern. “Aye, lass. Get right to it, I will.”

  Weary, she stumbled back to the kitchen, now stifling with the heat of numerous boiling pots of water.

  There it was again. That blasted wail, slithering through the walls and pummeling her with fear. She refused to believe a ghost lived in the castle, but the continuous howling shook her conviction.