Mackenzie Family Christmas: The Perfect Gift

Chapter Seven

Beth stopped. Her lips parted and a tear dropped to her cheek. "Oh, Ian."

Ian stared at her in surprise, pain touching his heart. He hadn't meant to make her cry. He'd intended to explain why she shouldn't bother trying to replace the bowl for him, so she would stop worrying about it.

As he watched the tears streak her cheeks, old dark anger built inside him, the one that manifested when Ian couldn't understand what he'd done. The angry beast told Ian that he was mad, unworthy of her, and would lose her in the end.

Ian kicked at the darkness, which he hadn't felt in a long time, willing it to recede. He cupped his hands around Beth's face, brushing away her tears.

"Why are you crying?" He felt the desperation rise, the need to understand.

"Because it was special to you. And I ruined it."

Words deserted him. He saw only Beth's tears, her blue eyes wet. He couldn't find the way to explain, to stop her weeping.

He growled in frustration as he tilted her face to his and kissed her lips.

The touch of her mouth was like a balm, soothing hurt. Ian let himself be lost in the warmth of her mouth, the taste of her breath.

He needed to touch her, to be surrounded by her warmth. He'd take her to bed and kiss away her tears, give her pleasure so deep she'd forget about the confounded bowl.

Ian had learned all about physical pleasure long ago, how to give it, how to enjoy it. He'd had trouble with emotions--with mastering them, or at times, even feeling them. But physical joy he understood. He'd sought it to replace the more profound emotions he knew he'd never experience.

Beth had taught him otherwise. The marriage of the physical with the love she'd awakened had opened an entire world to Ian, one more amazing than he'd ever imagined.

He slid his arms around her, Beth making a noise in her throat as his kisses landed on the exposed skin of her shoulders and breasts.

As he reveled in the taste of her, her scent of cinnamon, sweat, dust, the back of his mind began to work.

Beth liked it when Ian did things for Jamie and Belle. When the children were pleased by his gifts or his attention, Beth laughed, she hugged Ian impulsively, she'd even kiss him in front of people, Beth who was so modest in public.

Ian remembered something he'd discovered accidentally one evening while idling away time waiting for his brothers. He'd tucked the idea and its beautiful precision into the recesses of his brain to be examined at another time, but now he brought it forth. Belle might not understand beyond the amusement of it, but Jamie would be delighted. He liked precision almost as much as his father did.

The idea caught at Ian so abruptly that he broke the kiss.

Beth touched his face. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He decided not to tell her. When he'd surprised Beth in the past with gifts, her astonishment had increased her delight, and Beth was at her most beautiful when she was delighted.

He'd tell no one. Ian couldn't trust Mac, Cam, Hart, or Daniel not to give away his secrets. He wanted to keep it special and private for his children, for Beth. The perfect Christmas gift.

Ian felt a smile spread across his face before he could stop it. Joy of joys, Beth smiled too, no more tears, though her lashes were still wet.

Ian kissed her again, and she responded, her mouth softening for him, hands seeking his body. He unfastened the intricate buttons of her bodice, then Ian let himself grow lost in the beauty of her, sorrow forgotten.

*** *** *** A Prussian prince was one of the houseguests that year, and he arrived in splendor with his entourage a few afternoons later. Hart had invited him, first because the man was a longtime friend, and second, because Hart was still uneasy about how Germany was building up industry, including arms manufacturing. His princely friend was in the position to know many things, and Hart intended to use his visit to learn those things and pass them on to those who could act on the knowledge.

Hart stood with Prince Georg in the long upstairs gallery, which was filled with paintings of dour Mackenzie ancestors, interspersed with bright landscapes by Mac or his portraits of Mackenzie dogs past and present. The two men indulged in cigars as they looked out the long windows at the thin layer of pristine snow covering the Mackenzie lands, trees on distant hills outlined in silver.

The conversation had turned to Hart delicately probing for information about an armaments factory, when Beth rushed toward them in a swirl of rust-colored poplin.

"Hart, there you are. I need to speak with you." She passed the two gentlemen but looked back, her eyes wide, when Hart didn't move. "Urgently. I beg your pardon, Your Highness."

Georg smiled--the handsome, blond prince always had an eye for the ladies.

Beth continued walking at a rapid pace toward Hart's private wing. " Quite urgently," she said over her shoulder.

Hart let out a breath. "I need to follow her." He laid his cigar into a bowl on a carved Louis XV table.

"My apologies."

"Not at all." Georg's smile indicated he knew damn well that Hart had brought him here to mine him for information. "Perhaps I will take a stroll in your lovely garden."

"If you prefer a warmer activity, an early dinner is being laid on in the dining room. I'll return as soon as I'm able."

"Of course." Georg chuckled. " Les femmes, eh?" He always used French when speaking about women.

Hart started after Beth down the gallery. His sister-in-law kept a swift pace, and Hart was striding fast by the time he reached the entrance to his wing of the house.

Beth made for Eleanor's bedchamber and walked in without knocking. Hart entered the chamber to see his wife sitting up in bed, a writing desk on the mattress next to her, a sheaf of papers surrounding her.

Menus, Hart saw when he approached. And seating plans, and lists, so many lists.

Next year, Hart would rent a cottage in the middle of the Highlands for himself, Eleanor, and their new baby, and spend Christmas and New Year's in glorious privacy. No parties, no weeks of planning, no dining room full of too damned many people.

A futile dream, he knew. The entire staff of Kilmorgan Castle would follow them into the remote Highlands, never believing that Hart and Eleanor could look after themselves. Considering events of the past, they were probably right.

"No change?" Eleanor asked Beth.

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to Hart, one dark blue, Eleanor's cornflower. A double assault.

"Beth." Hart kept his voice gentle. "I have cabinet ministers and the Admiralty waiting for my report on armaments in Prussia."

"Not to worry," Eleanor said, before Beth could speak. "You rushing off after Beth over some domestic trouble will disarm Prince Georg admirably. He will relax and tell you everything. But I assure you, this is not a trivial matter. Beth came to me at once, which was the sensible thing to do. And, no, this is not about the cold supper for Boxing Day, although of course, I would value your opinion, as always, although . . ."

"Eleanor," Hart said sharply. Sometimes the only way to stop his wife was to talk over her. "Now that you two have brought me here, please let Beth tell me why."

Eleanor blinked. "Well, of course. Do carry on. Beth is frightfully worried about Ian."

"I think I upset him very much when I broke the bowl," Beth said, diving in before Eleanor could speak again. "He seemed all right for a few days, but now he's locked himself into one of the chambers in our wing and refuses to come out. He went in yesterday evening, came to bed very late, and then got up and went right back inside. He's not come out to eat, he'll not let anyone leave him food, he won't unlock the door. Curry says he used to do this sometimes, before I met him."

Alarm rose in Hart. Ian had on occasion locked himself away from his brothers and the world that bewildered him too much. He'd resist all attempts to make him come out, or even speak, although, he'd at least let Curry leave a tray of food outside the door. Even then, he wouldn't open the door until the hall was completely empty.

Hart tried to remain calm, logical. "All the doors in your wing have the same locks now. A key from any other door will open it."

Beth gave him an exasperated look. "This is Ian. He will have thought of that. He's bolted it from the inside."

Hart's alarm threatened to become panic. "Damnation."

"I'm sorry, Hart." Beth's eyes were red-rimmed. "I'm afraid I might have sent him into one of his muddles."

Ian hadn't had a breakdown for a long time. When he'd first come home from the asylum, he often degenerated into panicked tantrums, or he'd spend days without speaking to anyone. His body had been present, but his mind had not. Watching Ian stare straight ahead, refusing to look at Hart or respond to his words, had been heartbreaking.

The incidents had dwindled as Ian grew used to living at home and being around his brothers. They'd all but stopped after he'd met Beth, and they'd ceased altogether after he and Beth had moved into Ian's private house not far from here. The birth of Ian's children had relaxed him still more, a tension Ian had carried for so long easing away.

But Hart had never understood what had made Ian fly into his frustrated rages. Beth might be right, as much as Hart wanted her to be wrong.

Hart went to Eleanor and leaned to give her a brief embrace. She kissed his cheek, her scent and warmth lending him strength.

"Show me where he is," Hart said to Beth. "And send for Ainsley."

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