“Weel,” Jamie went on, “the best flies, in my opinion, are made from winding red wool round the hook and attaching two feathers plucked from under a cock’s wattle. ’Twas a method first used by Romans centuries ago, and ’tis still effective today.”
Rory tried unsuccessfully to imagine Jamie wrestling an irate cock for the feathers under its wattle. The Drummond Clan’s tanist seemed too gentle a soul to harm any creature, yet his delight in telling about hooking a fish was evident.
“Ye ken,” Jamie said unexpectedly, “Shaw isna like his father. I love my brother, but my nephew will make a better laird. He’ll cherish yer sister.”
In his heart, Rory knew it was true, but there remained the mystery of Caitlin’s whereabouts.
Jamie’s next remark took him off guard. “And, of course, Fiona will be a big help to all of us as we go forward.”
“How so?” he asked, instantly regretting the question. The bossy woman would likely take over as laird if she could.
“’Tis Fiona who’s kept the clan’s finances in order for years. My brother was never any good at managing coin, and ’tisna my forte.”
The search of Drummond Castle had revealed a clean, well-kept and efficiently run keep. A memory of Fiona’s elegant desk popped into Rory’s head, but the notion of having her examine Clan Blair’s accounts was too ludicrous to contemplate.
He’d sooner wrestle feathers from a cock.
Rescue
Shaw appreciated Ethan Blair’s hospitable provision of a comfortable chamber, but he hardly slept.
The sun was newly risen when he got out of bed. His instinct was to set off to Drummond Castle immediately, but a glance through the window revealed the top of the ruined wall he’d scaled at Newton. He decided one last talk with Nairn might yield a clue to her sister’s whereabouts.
When he entered the hall, a hush fell over the crowd gathered to break their fast. He supposed it was to be expected. If Rory had gone to Drummond Castle, he’d hardly be welcomed with open arms.
He helped himself to ham and coddled eggs from the servery and joined Merryweather who was seated at a table with a handful of dragoons.
Nairn came down from the high table when he smiled at her. She seemed to have Caitlin’s temperament and his instinct was to trust her.
“Are ye well this morn?” she asked.
“Nay,” he replied. “I didna sleep.”
“Neither did I,” she confided, genuine worry in her eyes. She truly feared for her sister.
“One vision after another taunted me,” he confessed. He preferred not to tell her of his real nightmare—Caitlin lying injured, praying he would find her. “I kept remembering the dank cellars where Drummonds were imprisoned and perhaps died long ago.”
She shivered. “I hated it down there.”
“Did Ethan tell ye about the bricked-up wall and the cat?”
“Aye. Caitlin and I saw the cat too. It scared us.”
“Ye ken,” he confided sheepishly, hoping the dragoons wouldn’t overhear and deem him a lovesick fool. “I climbed the highest wall at Newton so I could see Ardblair.”
Nairn’s eyes widened. “Ye came to Newton?”
“Aye.”
“Caitlin told me she thought ye were close by.”
His heart did a peculiar flip at her words. He leaned close to her ear. “I thought I saw a ghostly green light showing me where the tunnel was. I hacked away at…”
“I’ve seen the green light at Newton, from my window,” she whispered, putting her small hand on his.
He’d convinced himself the benevolent green ghost had been a flight of fancy, but if Nairn had seen it…
“Do ye suppose Caitlin saw it?”
The bairn nodded, her eyes bright. “She might have thought ’twas ye, come to find the tunnel.”
“So, when she left that morning, ’twas with the intention of going to Newton to meet with me.”
“’Tis but a mile from here.”
Their excitement had caught Merryweather’s attention. “You think she’s at Newton?” he asked as Shaw rose abruptly.
“I do. Let’s go.”
“But why didn’t she return home when she discovered you weren’t there?” the soldier asked as he and his men followed Shaw out of the hall.
“I dinna ken, but we must hurry.”
Shaw detoured to the stables while the dragoons ran along the land bridge to the encampment.
The elderly ostler seemed to sense his urgency. “Is there news of Lady Caitlin?” he asked. “Such a bonny lass. Like her mother, God rest her soul.”
“I need my horse,” Shaw replied. “She might be lying injured in the ruin.”
Between them, they had Doak saddled and ready in a few minutes. When Shaw was mounted, the ostler handed him a length of coiled rope. “Ye might need this. There’s many an auld well and the like at Newton.”
Apart from Ethan and Nairn, the old man was the first person at Ardblair not to shun him and he took heart from the gesture. “I thank ye. Pray I find her in time.”
“Aye.”
He galloped out of the gate and was soon joined by Merryweather and four dragoons. They reached Newton in less than five minutes and dismounted.
“What’s the plan?” Merryweather asked.
Shaw looked up at the wall he’d climbed and a certainty filled his heart—Caitlin was somewhere in the ruin. “I dinna ken why I didna think of searching this place before.”
The major smiled wryly. “Sometimes love befuddles a man’s thinking.”
Shaw felt the heat rise in his face, but Merryweather clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. I should have thought of it too.”
“Spread out, but take care. The ostler warned of auld wells. Call out if ye see any sign.”
Shaw began his search at the stable where he’d first noticed the eerie light, hoping the Green Lady might point him in the right direction. The temptation to hurry was strong, but he forced himself to cover the ground slowly, eyes peeled. His hopes flagged as time dragged on without result.
At least a half-hour had gone by when one of the dragoons shouted, “Here.”
The soldier was out of sight, but Shaw bolted towards the sound, his heart racing.
He found Merryweather on his belly, peering into a hole. “Looks deep,” he panted, “and I can’t see anyone, but these broken boards look like someone fell through.”
“Get the rope,” Shaw commanded, dropping to all fours beside the hole. “Caitlin,” he shouted, disappointed when there was no reply. “Are ye there, lass? ’Tis Shaw.”
Merryweather stood. “Perhaps she isn’t down there.”
Shaw shook his head. “Nay. My gut tells me she is.”
A soldier ran up with the rope.
Shaw threw off his plaid and tied the rope securely around his waist. “Lower me down.”
Merryweather looped the other end around his arm then snaked the rope around his back. Feet braced against the base of a low wall, he directed his men to feed out the rope as Shaw descended into the blackness.
The shaft was narrow, but there seemed to be pieces of an old wooden ladder attached to its side.
“Give me some slack,” he shouted when his feet touched bottom.
He untied the rope, willing his eyes to see in the darkness, listening for any sound besides his own frantic breathing. “Caitlin,” he shouted, startled when his voice echoed, as if he were in a cavern. “This isna a well,” he yelled to Merryweather.
He drew his dagger when he heard something that sounded like…purring?
Two green eyes flashed for a moment and he realized he was staring at the cat from the cellars. She sat atop a mound, kneading her paws into…
“Caitlin,” he cried, dropping to his knees.
The hissing cat fled.
“Ye canna die now I’ve found ye,” he rasped, gathering his bride’s limp body to his chest.
He rocked her, lamenting over and over that he hadn’t
searched the ruin sooner. “I could have saved ye,” he sobbed.
“Are ye a dream?”
He held his breath. Had he imagined the faint whisper? He eased his grip on her body and looked down at her tear-streaked face. Her eyes were open and she was staring at him. “Caitlin, mo ghràidh,” he whispered, choking with emotion.
“I dreamed of ye so often,” she murmured, “hoping ye would come.”
Fearing his heart might burst, he trailed tender kisses on her forehead, her nose, her eyes, her lips. “I’m here now, and we’ll get ye out of this place.”
“’Tis the tunnel, ye ken,” she replied. “I found the tunnel.”
“Aye,” he confirmed.
“She’s alive,” he shouted to the dragoons.
Ledgers
Convinced Fiona must be privy to Caitlin’s whereabouts, Rory talked himself into once more visiting her solar. He hoped she might let something slip if he could break through the icy shell.
He straightened the plaid draped over his shoulder, made sure his clan brooch was secure, then tapped on her door and waited.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she opened the door. “If ’tisna The Blair,” she said sarcastically, eyeing him up and down. “To what do I owe this honor? Are ye finally satisfied Caitlin isna here?”
Glad he’d tidied his appearance, he surmised the only way to gain entry was to lie. “Aye. We’ve searched everywhere.”
Still, she hesitated.
He racked his brain for an excuse to enter. “I was speaking with Jamie.”
“My uncle?”
“Did ye ken he’s an avid fisherman?”
Stupid question.
“Of course,” she replied, one eyebrow raised. “He’s my uncle.”
“Did ye ken he makes his own flies? From feathers.”
Now, she’ll slam the door in my face.
“Feathers?” she asked with a frown.
“Aye, plucked from under the wattle of a cock.”
He groaned inwardly, but at least he’d made her blush. Trouble was, his own face was on fire.
“A cock?” she asked, her eyes bright.
He should simply nod. “Aye, ye ken, a male rooster.” He recognized the trouble he was in when his own shaft stirred.
“I ken what a cock is,” she said.
He doubted very much if Fiona had ever seen a man’s tarse, but he suppressed the insane urge to show her how impressive one could be.
“I have three brothers, ye ken,” she whispered with a sly smile.
He could only hope she didn’t lower her gaze to the bulge in his trews. He’d come with the intention of getting under her skin, but he was the one hot and bothered—by Fiona Drummond of all people. The prickliest woman he’d ever met had managed to stir needs he’d long suppressed.
“Was there something else ye wanted?” she asked.
A thought popped unbidden into his befuddled brain. “Ledgers.”
She frowned. “I dinna understand.”
“Er…my father…”
He’d rather be flayed alive than reveal to a Drummond his sire’s determination to shut him out of the Blair Clan’s finances. “Now I’m laird, I’ll need to learn more about keeping records, and the like. I admit I dinna have a head for figures,” he lied. “Jamie tells me ye administer the books for yer clan.”
She looked at him askance. “Ye’re asking me for advice?”
He’d gone too far to retreat now. “Right.”
“And can ye?”
“Can I what?”
“Write?”
Suddenly, he was back in the Knot Garden. The irritating woman was talking in riddles. “’Tis right I’m asking yer advice.”
“I mean can ye write? With pen and ink.”
He bristled. It was bad enough she’d kept him dithering in the hallway, now she’d implied he was an illiterate clod. “Of course I can write. I studied mathematics at the University of Edinburgh.”
Good. He’d caused a deeper blush. However, he’d given the lie to his claim he’d no head for numbers.
“Come back this afternoon,” she said. “I’ll reveal all later.”
With that, she closed the door in his face.
He fumed for long minutes, the problem of a rampant erection worsened by erotic thoughts of Fiona revealing all.
*
Fiona leaned back against the door, certain she was coming down with some noxious malady. Her mind was muddled and she was sweating—very unladylike behavior, just when she itched to impress Rory Blair. Though the fact she wanted to do so was another sign she was ailing. Finding him on her doorstep had stolen the breath from her lungs. What was it about the mon that got her all hot and bothered?
He’d intended to make her blush with his talk of cocks. And he’d succeeded, though he seemed a bit flustered himself. She’d nigh on burst out laughing at the notion of timid Uncle Jamie plucking feathers from a rooster.
But a glimpse of the bulge in Rory’s trews tempered her amusement. It was true she had three brothers and was aware the male member grew as a boy became a man. She’d only to recall setting eyes on Shaw after his bath in Stirling to know that. But a woman of thirty years had heard enough gossip from maidservants about other reasons for a man’s cock to swell.
Had Rory become excited in the way men became excited by women? Were the peculiar sensations running rampant in private places a sign she found Rory Blair…exciting?
Nay! They were both too old for such shenanigans.
That idea irked.
And…who’d have thought Rory studied mathematics at Edinburgh? ’Twas typical an eldest son had been granted such an opportunity, whereas she’d taught herself how to do sums. Her father would have laughed in her face if she’d asked to go to university. Not that women were allowed to attend in any case.
If Rory was such a mathematical genius, why did he need her help with ledgers?
The situation was simply too confusing, and she’d been in no state to show him the Drummond ledgers.
Hell’s bells! That was his ploy. He wasn’t interested in her, just the clan’s finances, though why that would rouse him sexually was a mystery. ’Twas odd.
Too Much Alike
Caitlin awoke, not quite believing she was still alive. Slowly, it came to her she was lying in her own bed. She narrowed her eyes against the sunlight streaming in the window. Someone was holding her hand.
“Caitlin,” a voice whispered.
Shaw!
She gripped his hand, tears welling as the fear came flooding back.
The next thing she knew, he’d scooped her onto his lap in the chair, and she was cradled in his strong arms. “Cry as much as ye need to,” he said softly. “’Twill help wash away the ghosts.”
She wept against his chest until her throat was parched and her nose plugged. “I thought I was going to die,” she confessed, blowing her nose on the linen kerchief he offered.
“But ye didna. Ye endured and survived longer than most.”
“Only because I cadged a loaf of fresh bread from Cook. I was coming to meet ye.”
“And I had only just left.”
“I saw where ye tried to break down the wall.”
He chuckled. “A thankless task that nigh on broke my back. ’Twas ye who found the tunnel without even trying,” he teased.
She smiled at his jest.
“I want to spend my life making ye smile,” he said.
“How did ye get me out?” she asked.
“Ye dinna remember? I tied the rope around ye…”
“Nay, I mean how did ye ken where I was?”
He kissed her forehead. “Ye willna believe the convoluted tale. It involves a bricked-up wall and a cat.”
She buried her face against his neck, inhaling the clean male scent, hoping he wouldn’t think her ordeal had stolen her wits. He had, after all, mentioned ghosts. “The ghost I saw was holding a cat.”
His reaction wasn’t what she expected. He meshed his fi
ngers with hers. “The Green Lady?”
She gripped his hand. “I did see her, standing beside a big pool of water.”
“I believe ye, Caitlin. I saw her too.”
“At first, I was terrified, but now I wonder if she was watching over me. I think she healed my sprained ankle.”
“’Tis rumored every castle has its Green Lady and they are reputed to be benevolent ghosts. However, I think we should keep the pool, the cat and Newton’s Green Lady to ourselves.”
“Our secret,” she agreed, startling when the door banged open and her red-faced father stalked into the chamber, followed closely by Moira carrying her favorite woolen dressing gown. Until she saw her sire’s scowling face, she hadn’t given a thought to the fact she was alone in her chamber with a man, clad only in a nightgown.
“What’s this?” her father demanded, shaking his fist. “Ye’re nay wed to my daughter yet, Drummond.”
To her surprise, Shaw rolled his eyes but didn’t release his hold. “If that’s yer way of thanking me for saving her life, I accept.”
It was the first time she’d heard anyone answer her father back. His puzzled frown indicated it shocked him too. “Weel…”
It seemed her betrothed wasn’t intimidated. “I’d have thought ye’d be anxious to reveal yer joy that she was safe, how ye’d even gone to the chapel to pray, something I’ll wager ye havena done for many a year.”
Her father’s eyes bulged. “And how do ye ken that, cheeky lad?”
Caitlin laughed, accepting Moira’s help to don the dressing gown when Shaw released her. She hurried into her father’s arms.
“Eh, lass,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “I thought we’d lost ye. I’m sorry I caused ye such torment. Rory made me see sense. He’s laird now.”
The rare moment of closeness brought a lump to her throat, and she was relieved Rory had become laird with the blessing of their father.
Shaw rose and stood behind her, his warm hands on her shoulders. “And I am the laird of Clan Drummond. Hopefully, two new chieftains can work to lay the feud to rest and restore harmony.”
Kilty Party Page 10
