lies with making your lands more fertile. What we need to do is think differently.’
‘We?’
‘Yes, we,’ she said confidently. ‘Between your stubbornness and my as-yet-untested objectivity, we shall come up with something. We have to. But right now it’s very late, and it’s getting very cold. We’ll catch a chill if we sit here much longer, and you need to try to get a wee bit of sleep at least.’
Ainsley got resolutely to her feet, but Innes stood in front of her, blocking her path. ‘I’m not stubborn.’
‘You could have taken one look at the mess of this place and turned around back to your own life, but you have not. You’ve invested a lot more than money in the future of this place. What would you call that, if not stubborn?’
‘Determined? Pig ignorant?’ He pulled her into his arms, laughing. ‘Have it your way. How do you fancy taking a stubborn man to your bed? Because fetching as you look in that rig-out, what I really want is to take it off you, to lie naked in bed with you.’ He kissed her. ‘Beside me.’ He kissed her again. ‘Under me.’ And again. ‘Or on top of me.’ And again, this time more deeply, his hands on her bottom through the thin layer of her nightgown, pulling her up against the unmistakable ridge of his erection. ‘You see, this is me consulting you. Over, under, beside—the choice,’ he said, ‘is yours.’
Dear Adventurous Wife,
I must tell you, and other readers of this column, how very refreshing it is to hear of a marriage that is still so happy and so fulfilled after twenty-two years. Instead of being ashamed of your continuing physical desires, you should celebrate them. I applaud your wish to explore new territory, as you call it. No matter how enthralling a favourite, well-thumbed book might be, no matter how satisfying the conclusion, it is human nature to wish to read other volumes, provided that you are prepared to find some of them less—shall we say enthralling? Their conclusions perhaps even less satisfying. What matters, Adventurous Wife, is the journey rather than the destination.
Ainsley laid down her pen, smiling to herself as she remembered some of the journeys she and Innes had taken in the past few weeks. The destination had never been anything other than satisfying, but Madame Hera was a cautious soul, and Ainsley was inclined to think Innes rather more talented than most husbands. Not that she would dream of boasting, though she had indeed, during one particular adventure involving a feather and the silk sash from his dressing gown, informed him that he had the cleverest mouth of any man in the world. But that had been under extreme circumstances, and he had returned the compliment when she had employed the same combination of mouth, feather and silken tie on him. She picked up her pen again.
Certain everyday items can, with a little imagination, be employed as secondary aids. Think of these articles as theatrical props. Provided that proper consideration is given as to texture and, it goes without saying, hygiene, and provided, naturally, that both adventurers are content with the selection, then I think you will find that your journey will be much enhanced.
I wish you bon voyage!
Ainsley signed Madame Hera’s name with a flourish just as Mhairi entered the room. ‘Excellent timing,’ she said to the housekeeper. ‘I’ve been wanting to have a word with you while Innes is out. He’s with Eoin, so he’s bound to be away most of the morning. Do you have a moment for a cup of tea?’
Mhairi smiled. ‘I was just about to ask you the same thing. I’ve the tray ready. It’s a lovely day, and we won’t get many of those come October, so I thought you might fancy taking it outside.’
‘Perfect.’ Ainsley tucked Madame Hera’s correspondence into the leather portfolio and followed Mhairi on to the terrace that looked out over the bay. The view was not nearly so spectacular as that from the castle terrace, but it was still lovely.
‘I could never tire of this,’ Ainsley said, taking a seat at the little wooden table.
‘It’s been a fair summer,’ Mhairi said, ‘better than the past few.’
‘I hope a good omen for Innes’s first summer as laird,’ Ainsley said, pouring the tea and helping herself to one of Mhairi’s scones, still hot from the griddle.
‘Better still if the weather holds for the tattie howking in a few weeks, and better yet if there’s more than tatties to bring in, for the land is not the only thing being ploughed, if you take my meaning.’ Mhairi smiled primly. ‘It would be nice if that husband of yours could see some fruits from all his labours.’
‘Oh.’ Flushing, Ainsley put down the scone, which suddenly tasted of sawdust. ‘I see.’ She tried for a smile, but her mouth merely wobbled.
Mhairi leaned across the table and patted her hand consolingly. ‘It’s early days, but it’s well-known that the Drummond men carry potent seed.’
Ainsley took a sip of her tea, pleased to see that her hand was perfectly steady, studying the housekeeper over the rim of the cup. Mhairi spoke so matter-of-factly, though her words were shockingly blunt. ‘But the old laird had only the two children,’ she said.
‘Two boys was considered more than enough. ’Tis easy enough to limit your litter if you don’t service the sow.’ Mhairi buttered herself a scone. ‘I’ve shocked you.’
Unable to think of a polite lie, Ainsley opted for the truth. ‘You have.’
‘You must not be thinking I hold a grudge against Marjorie Caldwell. Poor soul, she was affianced to the laird when she was in her cradle. She can’t have been more than seventeen when she married him and, knowing him as I did, I doubt he made any pretence of affection, not even in the early days. It was all about the getting of sons, that marriage, and once he’d got them—well, she’d served her purpose.’
‘Innes said as much,’ Ainsley said, frowning over the memory, ‘but I thought his views highly coloured.’
‘No, Himself has always seen the way things are here clearly enough. The laird thought the sun shone out of Malcolm’s behind, as they say. Innes was only ever the spare, just as I was. The difference between us being that I stuck to the role he gave me and your husband went his own road.’
Mhairi stared off into the distance, her scone untouched on her plate. The insistent pounding of mallets on wood told them that the tide was low. The skeleton of the pier emerging beside the old one made the bay look as if it was growing a mouth of new teeth.
Mhairi stirred another cube of sugar into her tea, seemingly forgetting that she’d already put two in, and took a long drink. ‘I loved that man, but that does not mean I was blind to his faults, and he had a good many. What my brother, Dodds, said at the Rescinding was true. I was fit to warm the laird’s bed, but that was all. He never pretended more, I’ll give him that. That annuity, the farm he made over to me, it was his way of making it right. Payment for services rendered,’ she concluded grimly.
‘But you loved him all the same.’
Mhairi nodded sadly. ‘I’d have done anything for him, and he knew it. Until the Rescinding, I thought myself at peace with the one sacrifice I made, but now the laird is dead and buried, and I am too old and it’s far too late, I resent it.’
Her
