by Karen Ranney
Her brown hair, the mass that wasn’t fixed in a bun at the back of her head, was curly, tendrils coming down on either side of her face. Her nose was prominent and her mouth wide. He had a feeling that if she allowed herself, she would have a boisterous laugh.
From the look in her eyes, however, he doubted she found anything all that funny.
He’d seen that same look on a ranch hand’s face when he was tired of staring out at the horizon. A man could get weary of seeing nothing but grass, occasional mesquite trees, and clumps of cactus. He yearned for hills and valleys and rivers wider than the streams they could cross on foot.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Lady Lara Gillespie yearned for. Or what she was tired of seeing.
Felix Gillespie was slightly shorter, with a goatee-like beard, a mustache that was impeccably trimmed, and hair Connor considered too long.
Felix stood with his legs slightly apart as if he was ready to take on the world. His lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
If Felix had applied for a job on the XIV Ranch, Connor wouldn’t have hired him because of the feeling he got—one that indicated that it might be a good idea to keep that man in his sights for a while, at least until he proved to be either friend or foe.
Felix and his wife still lived at Bealadair, which surprised him. At home, his youngest sister was getting ready to marry in a few months, the other four having already found husbands. Eustace and Joe would occupy one of the houses in the Western Division, at least until they could build their own home there.
Although he was the heir to the XIV Ranch, Connor had been more than willing to share the wealth. Joe Pike, the man Eustace was going to marry, had proven himself a dozen times over. He had no qualms about deeding them a few thousand acres, enough to give the couple a start.
Lady Anise, the next in line to be introduced, had a softer face, with a less prominent nose and a mouth that wasn’t as wide. She wasn’t smiling at him. Nor did she deign to do so when her mother announced her name. She did, however, incline her head, almost regally.
Lady Muira, however, was a change from her two older sisters. She surprised him by smiling brightly.
“Would you like to go stand in front of the fire?” she asked. “I can’t imagine that the journey here was a warm one. But I’m so glad you arrived before the snow got worse.”
Muira’s eyes were smaller, her eyebrows surprisingly bushy. Her cheeks were like two pink biscuits on her face and her mouth was as large as Lara’s. He had the feeling that people didn’t care about Muira’s appearance. All he knew was that for the first time since he’d walked through the door he felt welcomed. Maybe part of that feeling was the fact that she reminded him of Eustace.
“You mean the snow can get worse?” he asked, smiling at her.
“Oh my, yes. It looks as if we’re to have one of our spectacular Highland blizzards. We might be snowed in for weeks.”
He sincerely hoped that wasn’t true. He wanted to conduct his business, get it out of the way, and be home again in a matter of weeks.
“We’re preparing for the Welcoming of the Laird, Your Grace. It will be held in ten days.”
He turned to face his aunt. “What’s the Welcoming of the Laird?”
Glassey, who had disappeared after they’d entered Bealadair, hadn’t mentioned it.
“It’s typical for all the members of the clan to greet a new laird, Your Grace. Once, it was a very formal affair, begun at Castle McCraight and completed in this very room. But in the last hundred years it’s been in the form of a ball. Less formal, but a great deal more entertaining.”
He doubted it. The idea of a ball didn’t sound fun at all.
“Of course, in normal circumstances we wouldn’t be entertaining at all, because of our dear Gavin’s death, but introducing you to the clan is a special event. People from as far away as London have indicated they would like to attend.”
He knew a bit about distances and how long it took to travel. If the future guests for this ball had to endure what he and Sam did traveling from London, he wondered if the occasion was worth it.
There was a light of zeal in the duchess’s eyes, however. He’d seen that look in his sister Barbara’s eyes when given the opportunity to attend some kind of party and she needed an escort because her husband was out of town. A sure and certain indication that he was doomed to attend whatever kind of soirée the duchess and his cousins had devised.
He sent a look toward Sam, but Sam had taken a seat near the duchess and was still staring rapturously at her.
His aunt struck him as one of those snobby people who thought they were better than someone else just because they were born into a certain family. It was luck and that was it. Otherwise, they could easily have been the daughter of a ranch cook or a blacksmith.
That’s why titles didn’t mean much to him, a fact that Mr. Glassey had yet to understand.
Pride came from a job well-done. He liked what he could accomplish from dawn till dusk. That’s what mattered.
When he was invited to sit, he remained standing. He didn’t want to sit. He’d been doing enough of that for the past twelve hours. Nor did he want to make small talk. He didn’t want to discuss the weather. It was still snowing and looked like it was going to keep snowing for a while. What was there to say? Nor did he want to talk about his father. Not right now. Especially not when he felt a little off-kilter.
This place, this huge house, was where his father had grown up, where Graham had spent twenty years of his life. A place he’d never mentioned.
He didn’t feel his father here, not in this fancy room with its chandeliers and crimson velvet. But there was every chance that there were nooks and crannies throughout the house that would suddenly remind him of Graham. He wasn’t entirely certain he was ready for that and it was a strange and unsettling thought. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t wanted to come to Scotland, for fear that he would be face-to-face with his father again. Instead of ghosts there would be memories. Not his, but his father’s and the family he didn’t know. Nor was he entirely certain he wanted to.
He walked from the middle of the room to one of the long windows. As he reached it, feeling the cold from the outside, he couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t closed the curtains against the weather. The view was pretty, though, with the torches illuminating the falling snow.
He found it odd to be witnessing a blizzard and not having to be concerned about his men or his cattle.
Another reason why he shouldn’t be here. Winter was a treacherous season on the ranch. Still, he had a team of reliable and dedicated managers. He had to trust in them, just as his father had trusted him.
I’m not going to be here one day, Connor. I believe in you. I know you’ll do the right thing. You always have.
But had coming to Scotland been the right thing? According to his mother, yes. Even his sisters had been in agreement. Now, however, standing here and feeling the echo of the past push against his back, he wondered if he’d made a mistake.
He didn’t want to be here. He had to converse with people he didn’t know, over topics he didn’t care about, in a setting he didn’t like.
“Don’t you think so, Connor?” Sam said.
He knew, without turning, that Sam’s glance would be filled with admonition. He was being chided and he probably deserved it. He hadn’t been polite. In fact, he’d been borderline rude.
Or, as his sister Alison often said, “Connor, you can be unbearably terse sometimes.”
He didn’t think she used the word correctly, but he understood her meaning well enough. He needed to be more social, more outgoing, spend time acting inane and saying idiotic things.
Turning, he forced a half smile to his face.
The door opened and any thought of mouthing pleasantries flew from his mind when he saw her.
Chapter 4
As Elsbeth slid open the door to the Laird’s Hall, the new duke turned to look at her.
; No one had told her that he was a man in his prime. Why had Mr. Glassey failed to mention that he was so tall, or that he could command a room, even one so large and impressive as the Laird’s Hall?
She felt her breath catch, which was ridiculous. She had never once lost her composure around a handsome man. Nor was she about to now, especially around a man who could have such a deleterious effect on her future.
She stepped aside as a parade of maids entered the room, carrying trays of heated refreshments that they placed on various tables. The hour was late, past the normal time for dinner, but they had provided the food in case the duke and his companion were hungry.
The new duke looked as if he wished to say something, an impression that lasted just a second before he turned his glance away from her and toward the duchess.
He hadn’t removed his coat. The majordomo was ill, but surely one of the footmen could have performed that most elementary of tasks?
Elsbeth walked to his side, extended her hands, and said, “Your Grace, if you’ll permit me, may I take your coat?”
He glanced at her.
Was he remarking on her gown? Unlike those dresses the McCraight sisters were wearing, there wasn’t a swath of tartan on it. Instead, her dress was a simple black silk that didn’t show wear or stains. Did he consider it too plain?
No, she was not going to be that foolish. What did she care what he thought of her dress?
Her feet were cold. Her shoes had not fared well in the snow. She wanted, like Felix, to go and stand in front of the fire. Or like Muira, serve herself to hot chocolate. Instead, she stood there like an upper servant waiting to take his coat in a simple gesture of hospitality.
“Thank you,” he said. He shrugged off his coat, folded it lengthwise, and handed it to her.
It was surprisingly heavy, more than she’d anticipated.
She glanced away to encounter Rhona’s look.
Evidently she’d done something wrong again, but she was too busy at the moment to worry about it. She’d given up trying to win the duchess’s approval years ago.
“It’s because you’re so much prettier than all of us,” Muira had once said.
She’d only stared at her friend.
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not.”
“Oh, you are,” Muira had continued in an unconcerned voice. “Everyone sees it. You’re a beauty while we’re just acceptable.” Muira’s smile had the effect of transforming her face, making her brown eyes sparkle and her plump cheeks turn a flattering shade of pink. “I don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to be so pretty that everyone stares at me. I don’t think Lara minds, either. Anise might be the only one who cares, but everyone knows she’s vain.”
She’d discounted Muira’s words. She hadn’t chosen her gray eyes or black hair. But the McCraight girls were just as pretty, especially Anise.
If the duchess disliked her because she wasn’t ugly, there was absolutely nothing she could do about that. She suspected, however, that the true reason she and the duchess didn’t get along lay in the relationship Elsbeth had had with the duke. Over the years they’d become fast friends, with Elsbeth taking tea in the library every day with Gavin. She’d gotten into the habit of discussing anything with him from the repair of the roof tiles to poetry. He, in turn, had confided in her about his difficulties in finishing his volumes on the McCraight history and fussed at her about working too hard.
Those hours were special to her because they made her feel as if she belonged at Bealadair, the few times she did. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t felt the same way since Gavin’s death.
Before she left the room she gave Maisie, one of the senior maids, instructions to stand by the door in case anyone needed anything.
“Monitor the trays, Maisie,” she added. “If you see that we need anything else replenished, go to the kitchen.” Heaven knows they had enough food.
She gave the duke’s coat to one of the maids with instructions to have it carefully dried. The two of them shared a look as they examined it. It was lined with fleece, so soft and thick that it was surely the warmest coat she’d ever seen. The leather on the outside was sueded, water beading on it.
“It’s American, then,” the maid said.
“I suppose so,” Elsbeth replied.
Why hadn’t Mr. Glassey informed them that the new duke would be attired in such a startling manner? For that matter, where was the solicitor?
She found Mr. Glassey supervising the distribution of the baggage from the two carriages.
“You shouldn’t have to do that,” she said, explaining that their majordomo would have helped if he’d been well. “Mr. Barton is suffering from a case of the gout,” she said. “The poor man has been laid up for nearly a week.”
“It’s no trouble, Miss Carew.”
Just then one of the footmen stumbled in, struggling under the weight of the strangest saddle she’d ever seen. It didn’t look anything like the one she used in shape or adornment. The tooling was ornate and complex, covering most of the leather.
When she gave instructions for the saddle to be taken to the stable, Mr. Glassey interrupted her.
“I’m sorry, Miss Carew, but His Grace would want that in his room, at least until he was certain the stable was acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“We have carried that saddle in coaches, aboard ship, and on various trains, Miss Carew. I’ve never seen anyone as possessive of an object as His Grace is about that saddle.”
How very odd.
“Are you very certain, Mr. Glassey?”
“I am more certain of that than of anything, Miss Carew, including the fact that I’m currently drawing breath. The man has not let it out of his sight.”
“Very well,” she said, countermanding her own order. The saddle would go into the duke’s suite.
She couldn’t help but wonder what else the new duke had brought from America.
“I’ll direct the footmen to put the rest of the trunks in the proper rooms,” she said. “Why don’t you join the others in the Laird’s Hall?”
The man certainly knew the way. It was where Gavin’s will had been read, instead of the library where he’d spent most of his days. He had, in the way of the preceding Lairds of Clan McCraight, requested the presence of the members of his clan. Nowadays, they numbered a little over two hundred. On that day they’d filed into the Hall and listened as their laird bequeathed each of them a sum. The amount wasn’t large, but it would go to making their lives easier. When there were tears shed, it was not only in appreciation for the laird’s generosity, but also in genuine grief for the duke they’d lost.
Would the new duke understand his obligation to the clan? Only time would tell.
“I’d much rather do this if you don’t mind, Miss Carew. His Grace and I have been having a difference of opinion these past few days.”
Normally, she could curtail her curiosity, but not tonight.
“Does he have a difficult nature?” she asked.
Mr. Glassey glanced at her and then away.
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he finally sighed before turning to her again.
“It’s his way of thinking that takes some adjustment, Miss Carew.”
She remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer.
“His Grace didn’t want to come to Scotland. He even asked me if there was a way he could turn down the title.”
“He couldn’t have been serious, Mr. Glassey,” she said, surprised.
“I’m afraid he was, Miss Carew. Each day of our journey, he regaled me with tasks that he needed to perform at home. He is not pleased to be here.”
She had the distinct impression that Mr. Glassey had not enjoyed either his visit to America or the journey home. When she said as much in as tactful a manner as possible, the solicitor shook his head rapidly.
“It isn’t America, Miss Carew. It’s Texas, a fact that I was reminded of almost hourly. The 14th Duke of Lothian is a
Texan.”
“What’s a Texan?”
He shook his head again. “I have no doubt that he will inform you soon enough.”
The solicitor said nothing further, but he also refused to budge from the door. When all the trunks had been distributed and sent to the various rooms, Mr. Glassey looked longingly up at the staircase.
“I don’t suppose you could tell everyone that I’ve taken ill and retired to my room?”
The solicitor rarely socialized with the family. He didn’t even eat dinner with them when he was at Bealadair, choosing instead to take a tray in his room. She’d always wondered if it was because he didn’t like the McCraights personally or if he considered himself staff more than their social equals. It wasn’t a question she could come out and ask.
“Do you really wish me to?”
He sighed again. “No, I don’t suppose so. Such behavior would be rude and Her Grace might have questions for me.”
Mr. Glassey offered his arm and she placed her hand on it, the two of them heading back to the Laird’s Hall. Bearding the dragon, Gavin would’ve said.
A Texas dragon, at that.
Where had the woman gone? She’d entered the Laird’s Hall, taken his coat, and then disappeared. Connor stopped himself from following her only because Sam was glaring at him.
With some difficulty, he applied himself to his manners. As the only brother to five sisters, he’d often been put into the position of being a dummy cow. When a bull didn’t seem interested in mounting a particular female, they sometimes brought in a ringer, another cow that might just get him interested in the act. He was the dummy cow for his sisters whenever they needed an escort, accompanying them to cotillions and parties, getting years of practice in hiding his impatience and learning to charm the matrons who’d assumed the task of watching them all with a critical eye.
He sat next to Muira, helping himself to some of the fried pies on the tray in front of him. To his surprise they weren’t sweet but savory. Three pies later he was decided he was going to take the recipe home for his mother.
