of thanks for this day. Though he fully intended to send her home tomorrow, Frances was determined to stay. She loved this castle, and the challenge of helping the laird was important, even if he was somewhat intimidating. But more than that, she couldn’t afford to return to her boarding house in London. There was nothing for her there, and she didn’t want to be a failure at something else, once again. Her mother would never stop blaming her for the sins of her past.
And so, she would do everything in her power to protect the future.
Frances lit a candle and set it down on the table. There wasn’t much time, and she had only three gowns to choose from. At least she owned attire that allowed her to dress herself without the services of a maid, even if it had been mended and remade several times.
She walked over to her trunk of belongings, realising that she should have unpacked it last night. Undoubtedly her gowns would be full of wrinkles. Although she had no riding habit, she chose a serviceable blue gown that she could wear and ride side saddle.
A thrill of anticipation soared within her. She adored horses and could not wait to go outside. It was still cool and damp, so she added a warm cloak and a bonnet to her outfit.
While Frances tucked a few escaping curls back into her bonnet, her mind turned over the idea of educating the laird. He was rather…rough around the edges. Truthfully, she could not imagine Lachlan MacKinloch marrying someone like Lady Regina. The shy young woman would be terrified of such a large, brash man.
Frances, in contrast, believed that she could see beneath his fierce exterior. The laird needed softening up, but she felt confident that he would win the heart of Lady Regina with time and effort. The laird was a decent man, though his clothing was quite…vivid. And he would need his hair cut.
As for the scar…she decided that there should be a heroic story to go with it. Something that would make Lady Regina see him differently. Frances would have to think upon it.
She opened the door to leave her room and stepped into the hallway, only to bump into a maid. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Frances apologised. ‘I didn’t see you.’
The woman was elderly and plump, and she wore a grey skirt with a white blouse. A tartan arasaid was clasped beneath her chin with a brooch. The tartan left a small portion of the grey skirt uncovered, and it revealed the blouse in a similar manner of a cloak. The woman gave her a nod and a smile but did not speak.
Frances followed the maid down the hall to the staircase. Alban met her at the bottom of the stairs, and she bid the maid, ‘Have a good morning.’ But again, the elderly woman said nothing but only smiled.
‘Elspeth doesn’t hear verra well,’ the footman explained, ‘but she understands everything you say to her, so long as you shout. She will shout her answer, as well, when she has something to say.’
Frances nodded. ‘I see.’ The older footman was about to escort her outside to the stables, when she asked, ‘Lady Locharr summoned me here, Alban, to help her son. Do you not think I should stay and tutor the laird?’
‘’Tis no’ my place to say, Miss Goodson.’
It was clear that the man was refusing to take sides. Frances considered another alternative. It was an extreme measure, but she might not have a second chance.
‘I truly do wish to help Locharr. He is a good man, and I want him to win Lady Regina’s heart. However, if he arrives in London, he may have some difficulty. He might frighten her.’
‘The laird is a fierce lad with that scar, aye.’ The footman’s gaze narrowed. ‘What did ye have in mind?’
Frances dug into her pocket and found a penny. Though it was hardly anything, it was all she had to offer. ‘Alban, all I am asking for is one week. A single day isn’t enough to help him. Could you…delay the coach? Perhaps tell the laird that the axle is broken. Or something of that nature.’
‘Ye want me to lie?’ The footman stared at her in disbelief.
‘I want you to let me give the laird lessons in etiquette. Allow me to do my job.’ She held the penny closer. ‘Take it. It’s all I have, but I can promise you more, if I ever receive wages.’ She wasn’t certain that would ever happen, but she could dream of it.
The footman sighed and took the penny. ‘I will do what I can, lass.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him and followed the older man outside towards the stables.
Morning rays of sun spilled over the horizon, and the sky was tinted grey and rose. The laird was speaking with the groom, who was bringing a stallion by the reins. Once again, MacKinloch wore a tartan with his shirt and trousers, but this time, Frances took a closer look at his physical form. He had broad shoulders and was so tall, it made her wonder if it was even possible to reach his neck if she stood on tiptoe. For that matter, he appeared strong enough to lift the horse in front of him. The laird’s legs were powerful, his thighs thick as if he were ready to ride out with a conquering barbarian horde. And heaven help her, she could only wonder what it would be like to embrace such a man.
You are his governess, she reminded herself sternly. Stop staring.
Frances swallowed hard and gathered her composure. ‘Good morning, Locharr.’
He gave her a nod in greeting. ‘You’re awake early.’
‘You said dawn. And here I am.’
He had a slight expression of irritation. Oh, she knew full well that he’d wanted to ride alone, for he’d said so. But she wanted to accompany him, both to get a sense of the land and to gauge him.
The groom brought out an older mare for her, and she supposed that was a logical decision, given that he knew nothing of her riding expertise. The poor mare looked as if she would rather be grazing than cantering through a field. But perhaps there was some spark to her, beneath the surface. Frances greeted the horse, giving the animal the chance to learn her scent. ‘There’s a sweet girl.’
‘Pip is a gentle one,’ the laird said. ‘You’ve naught to be afraid of.’
‘I’m not afraid of horses,’ Frances answered. ‘But I would be glad if you could help me up.’
The laird caught her waist, but instead of lifting her up, he held her a moment. His hands were so large, they nearly spanned her waist. She was acutely conscious of his touch, and God help her, it was nearly an embrace.
‘Could you—? That is—’ Her nerves were prickled and, oh, dear, he knew what he was doing. There was a slight smirk at his mouth, and she felt utterly bewildered on what to do now. Should she step backwards? Push his hands back? But then again, she had asked for his help.
Before she could speak, the laird picked her up and plunked her on the side saddle. ‘Er…thank you,’ she said. Frances adjusted her skirts and her cloak as a distraction before she took the reins. Though she understood that he was trying to intimidate her, she refused to acknowledge it. He wanted her to leave Scotland, and she could not do anything to threaten her place here. And so, she pretended that he’d done nothing at all.
‘We will need a chaperon. Shall I ask Alban or Elspeth to join us?’ she suggested.
‘It’s no’ necessary,’ he said. ‘It’s an open field, and everyone
