Page 8 of Taming the Scot
“Nay.”
“Have ye taken a good look at me?” Bronwen held out her hands, staring down at herself with a shake of her head. “I’m filthy, and I have no manners.”
Emilia laughed. “Ye are just as funny as I remember ye being when we were little.”
“I am quite serious.” Coming here was a bad idea. It would seem her cousin was daft. That explained the trousers. “Well, I do thank ye for the cup of tea.”
“See, ye have manners. Ye’ll be perfect. Besides, I happen to have met the captain, and while he says he is searching for all this, his sisters are mostly grown and have had a governess since they were quite young. It’ll be simple, I promise.” Emilia nodded as if the decision had already been made. “I’ve got some extra clothes at home. I’ll pack ye a valise to take with ye, so ye have more than one thing to wear.”
Bronwen did not think it would be a breeze at all; she was scared witless about it. But she’d get new gowns, a good night’s sleep and a ship’s ride out of Edinburgh. All of that was on the plus side, even if Emilia’s plan was hairbrained. Perhaps her luck was changing. She doubted the position would work out, but in the meantime, she’d not be hiding on the street.
“And Aunt Sarah? How will I get around her?”
Emilia waved off the concern. “Mother is out of town, cousin. Ye will no’ have to worry about her at all.”
With that settled, Bronwen took in a deep breath, the first time she’d done so in ages. This time tomorrow, she’d feel like a whole new lass, and she’d be headed out on a big adventure—or at the very least, going in the opposite way of danger.
When she finally made it to the end of her journey and knocked on the large iron-studded door of Drum Castle, Bronwen didn’t expect a striking Highlander with a steely blue gaze to answer. Nor did she anticipate the fluttering in her heart when said gaze raked her up and down. His blond hair was swept back, and there was a dusting of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheeks. Goodness, but his visage looked as if he’d stepped out of one of the paintings she’d once seen when she snuck into a gallery.
However, his clothes were not as pristine as she might have expected from a lord in a castle. He looked as if he’d finished a tussle. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his cravat removed. He wore a kilt that came to his bare knees and hose that clung to the strength of his muscular calves.
She cleared her throat, trying to remind the muscles there how to work. With her valise clutched to the front of her like armor, she finally managed to blurt out, “I’m Bronwen Holmes, here for the governess position.”
“Miss Holmes, did we have an appointment?” he asked. His voice was gruff, almost as if he’d been shouting, or it was unused often. He stared down at her speculatively.
Bronwen had expected him to say that. She’d also decided on the voyage here that she would need to adopt the air of a governess. Authoritative, all-knowing, snooty. Or at least those were the impressions she had of a governess’s behavior. She had also practiced placing a connection between them in the captain’s mind that would easily establish trust—the mutual contact of Andrewson Shipping. And she realized with all these plans and thoughts that she was acting very like the criminals she’d run from. Alas, she had to protect herself somehow, didn’t she?
“I do no’ believe so, sir, nay. My cousin, Emilia, sent me. Perhaps ye know her. She works at Andrewson Shipping.” Bronwen cocked her head, offering him a smile that she hoped would ease his suspicions. Lord, but he did appear to be a grump.
Something in his hard features relaxed, though not as much as she would have liked. She had a strong urge to reach forward and rub all the frown lines from his forehead.
“Ah, aye, I do recall Emilia. And I’m familiar with the shipping company.”
“I voyaged here on the Duke’s Sails today. Quite a lovely ship. Now about the position, sir. Are ye going to invite me in, or shall we conduct the interview on the front stairs?”
And just like Emilia had promised, including the name of the shipping company had opened the door wide.
“Do come in, Miss Holmes.”
3
When Euan had sent out the advertisement for a governess in the Lady Edinburgh society paper, he’d not expected the intriguing lass who landed on his doorstep. Indeed, he’d not expected anyone on his doorstep. His sisters had made mention that the governesses would send letters of interest or that their patronesses would.
There’d been no letters yet. Miss Bronwen Holmes was the first to express interest in the position. How very curious that she’d sailed from Edinburgh and arrived here without knowing whether or not she would even be allowed access. Was she that confident in being hired?
Euan studied her as she swept past him. There was a waif-like quality to her as she breezed into his castle. She was a good foot shorter than him.
Once in the center of his grand foyer, she whirled around to face him, pinning him with her gray eyes. There was a sharpness about her face that had softened when she’d smiled at him. Her dress was a dark blue, with lighter blue ribbons beneath pert breasts—which he made a great effort not to study. Beneath her matching bonnet, her hair was dark as night, casting shadows in the deep hollows of her pale cheeks.
“Thank ye, my lord,” she said, her gaze sweeping the grand foyer. The dim light of the castle did not do her justice, seeming to dull the intensity of her.
The lass held herself in a way that made him think she might burst into a run at any minute. Edgy energy pulsed around her.
“Ye can call me Captain Irvine.” He didn’t like the idea of the woman who was going to teach him how to catch a wife calling him “my lord.” It seemed so…medieval. Besides, he wasn’t a lord anyhow.
“All right, Captain.” She looked once more at the empty foyer as if searching for something or someone. Perhaps the energy he felt surrounding her was her nerves.
A glance at the staircase did not show any of the heads he’d expected peeking from around the corner. What a surprise that his six sisters weren’t down here spying on Miss Holmes or bumping into each other to line up and introduce themselves. That was rather unlike them.
