"Wait." Hildegarde's voice rang out with authority. She reached for a piece of toast. "Perhaps one of them has seen the kelpie."
"Kelpie?" Mrs. MacVittie looked intrigued. "In our loch?"
"What's a kelpie?" Gemma asked.
Douglas slid to the edge of his chain, his spine rigid, his black eyes flashing a warning.
"The castle is under a spell," Hildegarde said with such conviction that even Douglas for a moment entertained the bizarre possibility. "There is a water horse in the loch."
"No one has sighted a beastie in that loch for nigh on a hundred years," Mrs. MacVittie said reflectively. "I wonder what brought it out."
"I'm afraid 'tis attracted to the princess's unblemished soul," Hildegarde said in a quavering voice. "Purity always draws the perverse."
Douglas stole a look at Rowena from beneath his heavy eyebrows. He was tempted to admit the truth just to quiet the old woman's fears. The princess, however, appeared unmoved.
"There are no such things as monsters," Rowena said. "To prove this I will row out on that loch myself this very morning."
Douglas suppressed a shout of horror. "You certainly will not. This is a matter for me to handle."
Hildegarde granted him a look of grudging approval. "That is all very well and good, my lord, but I think I must advise my lady to leave this castle immediately. There are other dangers here."
A shadow crossed Douglas's face. He felt a wave of panic welling up. "Leave? But you only just arrived."
"What dangers do you speak of?" Rowena asked sharply.
Hildegarde lowered her eyes. "The brigands who attacked his lordship's village. A young woman was raped and left for dead in the river. A boy was beaten viciously only an hour before our arrival last night. I heard the servants talking."
"That matter has been taken care of," Douglas said in a voice of ruthless arrogance that brought Rowena's head up in surprise. "The worthless turd responsible for the rape will never threaten another helpless woman with his blade again. By now his tongue is probably bulging from his head, and the crows pecking out his eyes."
"Douglas," Gemma whispered in warning, her hand flying to her mouth.
He could not stop himself. His pirate's wrath had been aroused and he was out of control. He leaned forward, looking fit to pound the table into the floor. "No one will harm your lady while I am here," he shouted. "As to the other outlaws—any man who looks at her askance will find his guts spilled at his feet before he knows what struck him. I will personally draw and quarter the swine myself—"
"Douglas," Gemma said frantically.
"—and I will throw his bones to the dogs with his flesh still attached." Douglas sat back in his chair, his spell of anger suddenly broken.
The hall was utterly silent. His outburst overhung it like a thundercloud.
Hildegarde was staring up at him as if he had just sprouted horns.
Rowena looked utterly stunned.
He'd done it now, he realized in self-contempt. He had spoken like a pirate. No gentleman would address gently bred ladies in such graphic terms. He had shocked the holy hell out of the princess.
The Earl of Dunmoral lived by tact not terror, he realized belatedly.
How much harm had he done with his wild dragon's fury? How much of the truth had he unwittingly revealed with his outburst?
11
"I was speaking figuratively, of course," he said with a penitent smile, hastening to repair the damage. "The reivers must be dealt with in a court of law, as the Crown has decreed. Far be it from me to take justice into my own inadequate hands. Forgive me for such offensive language. Violence will only beget more violence."
Rowena frowned. "Sometimes one must act and consider the consequences later."
He schooled his features into a self-righteous expression. "I am bound to obey the law, Your Highness."
"I understand that the British government has removed its troops from the Highlands," Hildegarde said in disapproved.
"That's true, madam," Douglas said.
"Then who will protect the princess?" she asked worriedly.
He bowed his dark head. He tried to look pious. 'Twas hard after you'd just spewed a tirade about worthless turds and spilling guts. "We shall trust in divine protection. And not let her wander anywhere unescorted."
This brought more silence. Now instead of the Dragon of Darien, he would be called the Chicken-Heart of Caledonia. Was this an improvement?
"And what about the kelpie?" Hildegarde would not let that ridiculous matter rest. "I have heard of water horses choosing human women to mate with."
"Heavens above," Douglas said.
"Yes." Rowena's voice was wry. "Apparently, the lustful creature came close enough to her window so she could see the fire-breathing snakes writhing in its mane."
"Hildegarde is convinced that it wants to make passionate love to me," Rowena added.
"I don't blame it." Douglas blinked. "I mean, I don't blame her—for being convinced, that is. A young woman in your position is considered booty by every eligible bachelor in Europe."
A puzzled but pleased smile brightened Rowena's face. "Booty?"
Douglas frowned. "Beauty. I said that your beauty has Europe on its ear."
"No, it doesn't," Rowena said.
"Of course it does."
Rowena scowled at him. "Now you sound like your brother Matthew."
"Thank you," Douglas said.
" 'Twas not a compliment," Rowena said crossly.
" 'Twasn't?"
"The matter of handling the water horse must be decided today or I will insist the princess leave," Hildegarde interrupted them. "Catching a kelpie requires a special bridle."
Baldwin, Willie, Shandy, Phelps and the other crew members of the Delight present were listening to every word in growing distress.
Like all pirates, his crew respected the powers of the supernatural. Take out your earring and lose an eye. Spit three times on your palm before firing a cannon. Never let a sea bird land to your left. They believed wholeheartedly in monsters.
Shandy, a short wiry Englishman with a black mustache, spoke for the others. "Something needs to be done about that creature, sir."
"There was a banshee in the village where I was born," Baldwin said with a shudder. "The awful-some beast killed five people."
Douglas rose from the table. "I'm certain that you have neglected your duties in your desire to see the princess, but now 'tis time to return to your posts. As to the matter of the loch monster—" He paused meaningfully. "Perhaps he's a kind- hearted beastie. Perhaps, if we got to know him better, we would even discover that he's a real— Delight."
Gemma's eyes lit up in instant understanding.
The message sunk into the men's heads one by one. Except for Baldwin, whose skull, Douglas lamented, seemed to be denser than the castle walls.
"Kelpies are not known for their kindness," Hildegarde said. "They devour men on stormy nights. I think we ought to exorcise it."
Baldwin's mouth dropped open. "Beggin' yer pardon, ma'am, but that doesna sound like a good idea. Best to leave the nasty thing be. Exercisin' it will only give the teukin beastie more of an appetite. It might take to eatin' women and bairns then."
A grin flashed across Rowena's face. It faded as Douglas clamped his hand down on Baldwin's bony shoulder.
"I noticed that the torches in the corridor outside the princess's chamber are low on oil. We would not want Her Highness to stumble in the dark, would we?"
Baldwin frowned, dimly aware he had done something wrong and he'd better make it right before Douglas killed him. Oh, hell, what was he supposed to say? Gemma had made him study that silly French book all morning. Douglas had been hammering warnings in his head for a week. And now all this talk of that mean loch monster had scrambled his wits.
Then he remembered. He was the castle steward. He was to make sure that the princess was comfortable and that the lass didn't get lost.
He stood up strai
ghter. He raised his voice to a wobbly shout. "The privy is the second door down the hall from yer room, princess—I dinna want ye to lose yer way in the dark so X marks the spot."
Gemma stomped up to him, murder in her eyes. "Baldwin—"
He gazed at the princess in adoration. "I marked it just minutes ago in case the urge took ye to use the head in the wee small hours."
Rowena's eyes widened.
Douglas closed his.
"He means use your head," Gemma said forcefully.
"I do?" Baldwin said.
Gemma smiled grimly. "Yes, you do. Why, didn't you tell me only an hour ago that you were concerned the princess would run out of candles if she wanted to read late at night?"
"No," Baldwin said, looking confused. "I said nothin' of the sort."
Rowena smiled in embarrassment. "I'd hoped that we could overlook my rank and forget protocol during my stay."
"That shouldn't be hard," Gemma said under her breath, "seeing that we never knew protocol in the first place."
"X marks the spot! Worthless turds and booty!" Douglas grunted in exasperation as he propelled the rowboat toward a cluster of cattails. "Why didn't we just run up the old Jolly Roger or break open a cask of rum with our cutlasses? Why didn't we knock her over the head with Simon's wooden leg and announce, 'We are bloodthirsty pirates?'"
"Hell, Captain," Baldwin said, "ye've got nothin' to be ashamed of. I'm proud to have served under the Dragon."
Night was falling over the glen. Douglas plied the oars in silence, staring at the grinning dragon on the prow. His brooding gaze drifted to the sheltered tidal island in the middle of the loch.
"Where is Aidan?" he asked suddenly.
"Aidan is off by himself, sir, doing whatever 'tis he does when he is all alone," Dainty said. "Besides, you've warned everyone not to offend the princess. He's probably staying out of the way for fear hell say something oafish in her company."
"Aidan is not the only one who must watch his behavior," Douglas said. "The princess is challenging me. All that talk about producing heirs. I begin to wonder if the woman means to bait me like an animal."
Dainty grinned, rowing in rhythm with Douglas's broad strokes.
They had met as galley slaves on the Barbary Coast about fifteen years ago. Due to his size, Dainty had soon become the captain's overseer. He had saved Douglas from a flogging or two, given him a few more, and by the time they'd staged a mutiny, they had already plotted a future of piracy together.
Douglas sighed. "She could possibly mean to divine my true nature. I wonder why Matthew has not informed her I'm a pirate and first-rate rapscallion."
"Ye are that, sir," Baldwin said. "The biggest bastard I've ever served."
"I told Matthew I'd reformed," Douglas said. "Could it be that he actually believes me?"
Dainty chuckled. "Where are we going to hide Delight, sir?"
"In those trees over—" Douglas stared in disbelief at the figures gathered along the shoreline. He swore. "So much for privacy."
The two other men in the boat swung their heads around to look. About thirteen or so villagers stood at the water's edge. The women wore worn loose-spun kirtles, the men age-faded plaids. Several of them doffed their bonnets in respect at Douglas.
Pirate lord or not, he belonged to them and they to him. Along with his charter for the earldom, he had assumed the burden of defending the dying clan MacAult, whose back had been broken by the tyranny of Oliver Cromwell.
A few of the braver souls waded out into the loch to help him bring the boat to shore.
Douglas expelled a deep sigh, not certain what to do with these people.
They weighed him in the silence, the pirate he'd been, the nobleman he now claimed to be simply because the Stuart king had put his signature to paper.
And in the end they obviously chose to believe the kinder illusion, castle laird and defender, a man with a dutiful heart.
Or no heart at all. It did not matter.
Douglas wasn't sure who he was himself, and he felt faintly ridiculous as they studied him with their wry Highland humor, and acceptance of life's absurdities, each pretending not to notice the replica of the pirate ship pulled up on their shore.
The Dragon of Darien, Scourge of the Seven Seas, now in a Scottish Loch.
"Good afternoon, my lord."
"Out fishin', were ye, yer lordship?"
Delight bobbed up between the weeds. Douglas sat in the boat, not having a clue how to explain her. Perhaps if he said nothing, the gentle people of Dunmoral would continue pretending not to notice.
They knew he'd been a pirate. Gemma, of the loose tongue that flapped like a topsail in a gale, had let the secret out their first night in the castle. They asked little of him—only that he protect them from the predators who took advantage of their vulnerability.
Protect them—a pirate who had preyed on vulnerability.
Then one of the children, fearless and observant, darted forward. " 'Tis a pirate ship!" she exclaimed. "Can we ride it?"
Her mother stumbled down the incline to pull the child away.
A bearded man in a blacksmith's leather jerkin approached the boat. He grinned in amusement as he looked Douglas in the eye.
"Caught yerself a right prize there, my lord. My name is Henry. That's my smithy at the end of the lane."
Douglas met the man's shrewd gaze. He couldn't think up a lie to explain Delight to save his life. He was forced resort to the truth.
"I need help," he said bluntly. "I want to hide this vessel. For sentimental reasons, my men cannot bring themselves to bum or dismantle the damned harlot."
Henry scratched the side of his jaw. "Hide her from the princess?"
"You know about her too?" Douglas said in disbelief.
"Oh, aye. Ye can hardly keep such a secret in these parts."
Douglas sighed. "Well, we have to keep this ship a secret."
Henry took a long draw on his briarwood pipe. "There's an empty barn in the village where we can keep an eye on her."
"I appreciate this." Douglas jumped from the rowboat to clap the man on the back. "I'm going to help you too. I'm sending men here to stand guard."
The sparkle faded from Henry's eyes. "Neacail's younger brother was found at the crossroads this morning with a single swordthrust through his chest. He was the raider who raped wee Aggie and the one who beat that boy Davie within an inch of his life."
Douglas's expression did not change. Aidan had left the body in open view as a signal to Neacail's men that Douglas would let no injustice go unavenged.
"Perhaps this will warn Neacail that the people of Dunmoral are not to be attacked with impunity," Douglas said.
Henry lowered his voice. "That family and their followers are a vicious lot, fugitives from the army, put to the horn by our clan. They willna let the loss of a brother go unavenged."
"I am prepared for that," Douglas said.
Henry shook his head in concern. "I've known Neacail since he was a wee bastard who took pleasure drownin' small animals in the loch. He'll take on the Devil himself to get what he wants."
Douglas's voice was soft with a steel core of confidence. "Then let him. The Devil is always ready for a challenge."
12
A few miles away from Loch Dunmoral, A fishing boat bumped between the ridge of rocks that carved a jagged passageway into the shore where the river met the sea. Gemma leaned over the side and scanned the dark green waters for Dainty's bald head.
It was a chilly gray gloaming with mist in the air.
"He's been down there a long time," she said. "Perhaps Baldwin ought to go in after him."
"Me?" Baldwin said in horror.
"Don't look at me either," Frances said, burying her hands in her skirts. "I owe Douglas my life, but nobody is getting me in a Scottish sea in November."
Suddenly Dainty burst from between the rocks like Poseidon, his lips blue and trembling, his eyes bright with triumph. "The princess will sup in style," he
announced.
Gemma grinned. "You found them?"
"That I did." He clambered into the boat, a fishing net slung over his naked shoulders. "You'd never believe where—I near drowned in that diving bell hunting for the buggers, and there they were all the time plastered over the rocks of the shore for the taking."
The small group stared in anticipation at the black shiny mess he'd dumped into the bottom of the boat. Beaming with pride, Dainty shoved his knife into the waistband of his soaking trousers.
Frances glared at him. "These aren't oysters, you lackwit. They're big nasty mussels. Ew."
"Mussels!" Baldwin stomped his feet in glee. "Ye're so stupid, Dainty! What kind of pirate canna tell a mussel from an oyster?"
Dainty flushed to the dormant roots of his bald head. "Well, you try finding the accursed creatures with the water cold enough to freeze your eyeballs in your head. That's the best I could do." Disgruntled, he thumped down on the thwarts, nearly capsizing the small boat.
"Oysters live in beds," Frances said disgustedly. Baldwin chuckled. "Aye, ye should have looked for their mattresses."
Dainty crossed his muscle-knotted arms over his chest. "Tell Her Highness they're Highland oysters, or dress them up in sauce. I'm not diving again."
Gemma pushed her toe against the gleaming mess of mussels. "Do you want to sicken the princess? Some mussels can be deadly."
"We have less than a week to give the feast," Frances said grimly. "I insist on serving oysters on the half-shell, and I have to have a peacock for the center of the table."
"A peacock?" Dainty cried.
"Yes," Gemma said. "A peacock. And after you've found me a decent one, you're to report to Mrs. MacVittie for lessons in deportment." She picked up the oar. "After all Douglas has done for us, we owe it to him to make him proud."
She did not say it but more than a debt of gratitude hung in the balance. If Douglas sought redemption, then so did they. If he found it, they would too. But if he failed and fell flat on his face in this bold venture called reform, they fell with him.
They would willingly follow him into hell, and it wouldn't be the first time.
Delight Page 8
