by Sabrina York
Isobel paused in the licking of her cake. Her nose wrinkled. “He called me a fiend.”
“I do apologize for that. I am certain you are not a fiend.”
She tipped her head to the side. “Why would you apologize? It wasna you who called me that.”
“As duke it is my responsibility to protect you. To keep bad men from bothering you.”
She peeped up at Andrew. “I thought it was your job.”
He patted her shoulder. “It is his job, too. If a man threatens Dounreay, he threatens Caithness as well.”
“Exactly.” Caithness nodded. “As duke it is my responsibility to keep bad men from bothering you. And I failed you in that.”
Isobel considered this for a moment and then nodded. Her estimation of the duke warmed.
As did Susana’s. She appreciated that he was speaking to Isobel as though she were an equal. Most men would have ignored her completely and directed their comments only to the other men.
“I hope you will accept my most sincere apologies for being absent and not providing you the protection you required.” Though he spoke to Isobel, the words were directed to them all. That he was man enough to admit he’d made mistakes, and man enough to fix them where he could, spoke volumes about his character.
Susana decided she liked him very much indeed.
Except, of course, for the hungry looks he kept sending in Lana’s direction.
Isobel surveyed the duke solemnly, nibbling her lip and considering his words. And then she nodded. “Aye. I accept your ’pology. But it doesna matter anymore.”
The duke’s brow quirked. “Does it not?”
“Scrabster doesna matter anymore, at least,” she said, bringing down disaster as only an innocent child could. “Because my mama shot him.”
Oh, dear. Perhaps he should have directed his comments to the men.
The duke’s head whipped around and his sharp gaze landed on her, causing heat to prickle on her neck. “You … shot him?”
“Good show.” Papa lifted his glass.
Susana set her teeth and forced herself to stare the duke down. “He had a pistol pointed at my daughter.”
“Doona forget, he’d kidnapped Isobel to force Susana to marry him,” Andrew added. It sounded like a complaint.
“Aye.” She nodded crisply. “There was that, too.”
“Never forget, he planned to murder us all. And then turn his attentions to Lana,” Hamish said.
This caused the duke’s brows to bristle and Lana to pale. “Me?” she squeaked. She glanced at Susana and made a face. “I think I may be ill.”
“You are the next in line for the lands he wanted,” Hamish explained.
Dunnet bristled. “But those are Hannah’s lands…”
“Exactly.” Andrew’s brow darkened. “We believe his plan was to take out everyone and anyone who stood in his way. Hence the attempt on Magnus.”
“What is take out?” Isobel asked.
Andrew petted her hair. “He wanted to kill everyone.”
Isobel’s face scrunched into a furious moue. She glared at the duke. “See. I told you he was a bad man.” Then with the quixotic moods of the very young, her features shifted into a blindingly ingenuous mien. She smiled sweetly and batted her lashes. “It’s not my fault his castle blew up. Really. It’s not.”
“His … castle blew up?” Dunnet squeaked.
Andrew widened his eyes and nodded, nibbling away an inappropriate smirk.
Papa’s guffaw rounded the room.
As for Lana, Hannah, and the duke, they merely gaped.
Isobel, sensing no impending scold, shrugged. “It was his own fault.”
Caithness’s brow rippled. “How so?”
Isobel blinked. “He locked me in the wrong room.” She leaned closer and whispered, “There might have been a fire.”
“I … see.” The duke tried to hide his smile but could not.
No doubt Isobel took it as encouragement. She leaped down from Andrew’s lap and crawled onto his instead. He seemed surprised but set his teacup on the small table at his side to hold her.
It amused Susana that Andrew seemed put out.
Isobel stared up at the duke, her eyes alight. She was thrilled with the attention. “It was a verra exciting adventure.”
“I am certain it was.”
“Look.”
The duke blanched as Isobel reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a very long blade. Susana flinched. Why hadn’t she known Isobel had a knife?
“Where did you get that?” she and Andrew squawked at the same time. They shared a horrified glance.
“Hamish gave it to me.”
Susana glared at the miscreant and he shrugged.
“It was in his boot. I used it to unlock the doors.” Isobel waved the knife around until the duke took it from her under the pretense of studying it. Then he set it very carefully on the table next to his teacup. “It was verra handy. I used it to open his chest, too.”
The duke’s nostrils flared. “I … ah … his chest? Whose chest?”
“Scrabster’s.”
Caithness turned to Susana. “I thought you said you shot him.” Clearly he was of the opinion that all the Dounreay women were deranged.
Isobel trilled a laugh as though the duke had told a joke. “Not that kind of chest. It was a treasure chest.” She put out a lip. “Although there wasn’t much treasure in it. Just these stupid letters.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her pocket and waved them around until the duke confiscated them as well. As there was no more room on the little table, he handed them to Alexander, who began flipping through them. “Oh, and this.” She reached in and pulled out a gold trinket.
“What else do you have in that pocket?” Andrew asked.
Isobel grinned. “That’s all. I was hoping for treasure but he didn’t have any. He did have papers, though. Lots and lots of papers.” She beamed at Caithness, who appeared to be in a befuddled trance. Then again, Susana was rather befuddled as well. “Papers burn verra well,” Isobel confided.
“I’m sure they do,” Andrew said. “It’s probably best if we doona start any fires here. What do you think, Isobel?”
She appeared to think this over. For far too long.
“Isobel—” Susana said warningly.
Andrew sent her a speaking look and she swallowed her scold.
“Just think of what it did to Scrabster’s castle,” Andrew said in a calm tone. Isobel grinned. “Would you want that to happen here?”
The grin faded. She nibbled her lip and shook her head.
“So, no fires?”
“Oh, all right.”
“A wise decision.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. Astonishingly, Susana had the sense there would, indeed, be no fires.
It was practically a miracle.
Aye, he would make a wonderful father. Exactly what Isobel needed, to be sure.
The duke, who had been silent throughout this exchange, silent and staring at the hunk of gold Isobel held in her hand, cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I look at this?” he asked, his hand hovering over the trinket.
Isobel handed it to him and he studied it at length, turning it this way and that.
His scrutiny was intense. Susana didn’t understand the sudden tension in the room.
“Lachlan?” Lana said, and Susana’s head whipped around. She gaped at her sister. The tone in which she had addressed the duke was unlike any she’d heard from Lana before. It was far too familiar. And she’d used his given name. “Is it…?”
He glanced up at her with an odd expression on his face. “It is.”
“It is what?” Isobel asked, taking the precaution of snatching it back and dropping it into her pocket.
The duke drew in a breath. “It is a treasure, Isobel. One I’ve been searching for a long time. You say you found it in Scrabster’s castle?”
“Aye.”
Lana’s eyes glowed. “That makes sense. Both Dounreay and Scrabster are al
ong the coast.”
How on earth did that signify?
But the duke nodded. “Aye. No doubt, sometime during the past five centuries, they washed up on shore or were caught in nets.”
Lana nodded. “Likely, the people who found them dinna realize what they’d really discovered.”
“Would someone like to explain what you are all talking about?” Hamish asked peevishly. Though to be honest, there had been a peevish expression on his face since Lana had called the duke Lachlan.
“Och, it’s a wonderful story,” Lana said. “Involving a curse and a magic relic and the future of all Scotland.”
Isobel’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“Come here and I’ll tell you.”
Isobel loved Lana’s stories, so she hopped down from Caithness’s lap and made her way to Lana’s. Stopping, of course, for another cake. When she was settled in—between Lana and Hamish, much to Hamish’s chagrin—Lana began.
“Long long ago there was a verra greedy man. He wanted more power than he had, so he betrayed his kin to the evil king Edward Longshanks. Do you remember him from your lessons, Isobel?”
“Of course.”
“Verra good, my darling. You’re so clever.” Lana kissed her brow. “In those days, England and Scotland were at war because Edward wanted to take all our lands for himself.”
“That wasn’t verra nice.”
“Nae. It wasna. There were many bluidy battles. Treachery and betrayal abounded.”
Isobel’s eyes glittered. She leaned closer.
“Now, the greedy man, the Baron of Rosslyn, wanted more wealth and power, so he aligned with Longshanks, the enemy of all Scots and betrayed his kin. Legend has it, the baron gave the English king the MacAlpin Cross, the magical talisman that has protected Scotland through the ages.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Because he wasna happy being a baron, my darling. He wanted to be a duke.”
Isobel frowned at Caithness, who shifted in his seat.
“The brutal English king smashed the relic, the heart of all that is Scotland, and tossed it into the sea, ushering in centuries of poverty, torment, and strife for all clans.”
Isobel toyed with the twill on Lana’s traveling gown. “I doona like that king.”
“No one did,” Dunnet snorted. Hannah shushed him.
Even Lana frowned at him. “Anyway, the Keeper of the Cross—some say she was a witch—”
“You dinna mention a witch.”
“I’m verra sure she was a witch, and with her dying breath, she levied a deadly curse on the new duke and all his descendants.”
Isobel put out a lip. “Well, good.”
“But it’s not so good, darling. Because, according to the curse, none of them will live past their twenty-ninth year.”
Isobel snorted. “That’s pretty old.”
Lana snuffled a laugh. “Aye. Verra old.” The duke seemed very put out indeed. “But some men want to live that long. Longer even.”
Isobel’s brow rumpled. “I canna imagine it.”
“Now, see here,” Magnus grumbled.
Isobel rolled her eyes. “But you’re a grandfather.”
“A man must live past thirty to become a grandfather,” Lana explained. And somehow, Isobel accepted this at face value. “At any rate, throughout the years, all of the duke’s firstborn sons have died before their thirtieth birthday.”
Isobel nodded. “That seems fair. They did betray their kin.”
Lana’s eyes widened. “Ah. But did they? The first duke did, to be sure. And he was already old when this happened. It was his sons and his son’s sons who paid the price.” She swallowed. “And the people who loved them.”
Susana didn’t miss the look Lana sent Lachlan, nor his yearning glance in return. Suspicion began to bubble.
“How would you like to be punished for something Siobhan has done? Or your mama? Or grandpapa?”
“I havena done anything,” Papa grumbled when Isobel gored him with an accusing frown.
“How would you like to pay the price for a sin you had nothing to do with?”
“I wouldna like that at all.”
“Aye. I feel the same. Well, Lachlan is one of those descendants. He is doomed to die if he canna break the curse.”
“Can anything break the curse?” Isobel stared at Lana, her eyes wide.
“One thing only.”
“What is it?”
“He must reunite the MacAlpin Cross. We think the piece you found is a part of the relic.”
The duke shifted under Isobel’s regard. There almost seemed to be a sympathetic flicker in her expression. Almost. “But it’s my treasure.”
“It means quite a lot to me,” he said gently.
Isobel frowned. “Do you believe in curses?” she asked Lana, apparently convinced that, with her aunt’s occasional glimpses into unseen worlds, she of all people would know.
Lana smiled sadly. “I’m not sure if curses are real. But I do know I doona want Lachlan to die.”
Ah. Suspicion confirmed. Lana was, indeed, besotted with the doomed duke. Susana’s heart twisted.
Isobel studied the duke. “He is verra handsome.”
“Aye. He is.”
She pulled the trinket from her pocket and fondled it. “But it’s a verra beautiful treasure.”
“Perhaps I could offer you a trade?” The duke’s voice was a low thrum.
Isobel turned to him with interest glinting in her eyes. “A trade? What do you have?”
He tugged on his plaid. “What do you want?”
“A sword.”
Susana frowned. A pulse ticked in her left eye.
Caithness blinked. His jaw dropped. “A … sword?”
“I really want a sword.” Isobel fluttered her lashes. “But not a big one. Yet.”
The duke sent a questing glance to Susana. She nibbled at her lip and glanced, in turn, at Andrew. He nodded and she couldn’t help but relent. Andrew had been teaching Isobel. He would know if she were ready for a real sword.
But dear lord in heaven above. Preserve them all from the mayhem Isobel could incite with a real sword …
At her assent, the duke smiled. “I am certain that can be arranged.”
“My mama willna like it,” Isobel whispered, as though no one else were in the room. As though no one else could hear if she whispered.
The duke winked. “Leave your mama to me.”
The whole exchange annoyed Susana mightily, so she huffed out a breath. “I doona know. It is quite a sacrifice. Isobel giving up a treasure that could possibly save your life … merely for a sword.”
Isobel shot her a frown.
Susana bit back a smile and added, “I think we should get something more out of this agreement.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”
“A title?” This, she said teasingly, but the duke took her seriously.
He blinked. His lips worked. He looked around the room, but no one seemed willing to help him out. In fact, Papa even snorted a laugh. At length, he said, “Dukes don’t convey titles. Only the Crown can convey titles and…”
“And?”
“With due respect, my lady, not even the Crown could convey a title upon…” He flushed. “Well, a woman.”
Irritating that, but true. “I wasn’t thinking of myself. I was thinking of Andrew.”
“What?” Andrew squawked, straightening in his chair. “I doona want a bluidy title.”
“Hush,” she said. “I’m negotiating.”
Caithness flushed. “Madam. I do not have titles to hand out like candies.”
“Mmm.” Isobel licked her lips. “I like candy, too.”
Andrew put out a lip. “I doona want a bluidy title.”
Susana glared him silent. “Lands then.” It had begun as a jest, but now it didn’t seem so funny. If Andrew was going to marry her—if he ever got around to wooing her, that was—he needed something to call his own.
A cough to the duke’s right caught his attention. It caught everyone’s attention and all eyes turned to Dunnet who had been silent up until now, reading through the papers Isobel had pilfered. His eyes were wide with disbelief. As he read, he shook his head and his lip curled. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, turning the page.
“What is it?” the duke asked.
Dunnet frowned. “If these letters are any indication, Scrabster has been robbing the Crown blind for years. There is reference to bribing the tax man and two pages of gloating about how much he’s stolen from the Regent.”
Caithness stilled. His fingers closed. “Prinny won’t like that.”
“And I canna tell for sure, but it appears he’s been plotting against you as well.”
“What?”
Dunnet handed a letter to the duke, and he scanned it. His jaw tightened. “That rotter.” He read on until he came to a part that made his muscles bunch. “Bloody hell. Look at this.” Dunnet came to read over his shoulder as Caithness pointed to a line. Both men became very somber indeed.
“What the hell is it?” Papa asked.
Dunnet scrubbed his face with a palm. “Scrabster wasna working alone.” He shared a glance with his brother. “It doesna say who … but I have my suspicions.”
Nae. He didn’t need to give a name. They were all fairly certain, given the fact that their two neighbors had both been unrelenting in their quest for this land.
It had to be Stafford. The bastard.
Caithness sat back and blew out a heavy sigh. He offered Susana a tight smile. “It seems as though I may have a title to spare after all,” he said in a ragged tone.
Her stomach revolted at the thought. “Oh, no. Not that title.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “You did ask for a title.”
“I wasn’t serious. Besides, I doona want to be married to Scrabster. What an execrable name to give my sons.”
Dunnet gaped at her. “Married?”
Andrew straightened in his chair. “Did you say, married?”
“Yes, of course married.”
“Hurray,” Isobel crowed.
Susana ignored this, and the reaction rocketing around the room, and frowned at Andrew. “What do you think wooing is for?”
“But I dinna ask you to marry me.”
She stilled. Her stomach lurched. Mortification rippled through her. “Are you … are you saying you … doona want to marry me?”
