Taken By the Laird

by Margo Maguire

  He went inside and closed the door of the wardrobe, stopping suddenly when he felt a cold, clear sensation of being watched. He turned and looked around, but saw naught, in spite of the shiver of dread that coursed up his spine. It would be just like Amelia to begin haunting him now that he had remarried. He shuddered and exited the room, then went downstairs, deliberately avoiding the library as he headed for the door. He did not want another interchange with his chilly, distant wife. His past was full of those.

  He went out to the stable and discovered young Ronan MacTavish, shoveling out the horse’s stall. “I’ll do that,” he said, taking the implement from him. “Run back to the castle and see if your grandmother has any other jobs for you. I’ll finish out here.”

  “Aye, Laird!”

  Hugh started immediately, working off his anger and frustration by shoveling and making sure the stall was clean, then taking care of the gelding. He brushed the animal to a fine sheen, then checked each of its hooves. He was on the last one when Brianna’s voice startled him.

  “I’d like to talk to you,” she said.

  He dropped the horse’s fetlock and came out of the stall.

  He was dirty and sweaty, but she had not changed out of her wedding clothes, though she wore a heavy woolen shawl across her shoulders. She was still so beautiful she took his breath away.

  He tossed the hoof pick onto the worktable and gave her his attention.

  She looked down at the floor and then quickly back to his eyes as she flushed pink, obviously remembering their impetuous coupling in the straw. “I’d like to go up to Killiedown Manor.”

  “Killiedown?”

  She nodded. “My aunt’s estate—my home.”

  He had not expected her to want to leave now. With solid deliberation, he closed the distance between them and crossed his arms over his chest.

  She took a step back, a telling move.

  “I do not wish to quarrel, wife. But this is your home. You are now Lady Newbury. Or Lady Glenloch, if you prefer.”

  He reached out and touched a wisp of her hair. She swallowed audibly. “I realize that. But m-my belongings are at Killiedown. All my clothes, and…” She raised her hem a few inches and stuck out one booted foot. It was the boot she’d worn with her old trews and rough coat. “I would like to get some of my own shoes…that don’t give me blisters.”

  It was nearly Hugh’s undoing. She’d looked as majestic as a queen in her altered gown, and yet her feet had been clad in her rough boys’ boots.

  He cleared his throat, but his voice sounded gruff, nonetheless. “We’ll go in a few days. I’ve got a shipment to dilute and move out first, and I want to supervise every stage personally.”

  She gave a questioning frown, and he realized she did not know that anything was amiss.

  “There have been some irregularities in Glenloch’s free trade of late. I want to see that everything is done correctly.”

  “What kind of irregularities?”

  Her interest didn’t surprise him, not when he remembered her mentioning that her aunt had been a free trader. Lady Claire, of all people. “MacGowan’s been transporting the brandy away from the Mearns, and using some Stonehaven ruffians to do it.”

  “What of the locals? Will the Falkburn folk not do it?”

  “No, they’d be happy to do it, but MacGowan tells them there’s no market for brandy in these parts.”

  She made a sound of surprise. “That doesn’t seem likely, does it?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Does all this mean you’ll be leaving Glenloch for the distribution?”

  “Are you anxious to see me gone?”

  She bit her lower lip.

  “Because I’m not going to be anywhere tonight but in our marriage bed.”

  Though she was wearing only a woolen shawl, Brianna felt overheated when she returned to the castle. Hugh meant to consummate their marriage that night—as though it had not been consummated before. Many times.

  Yet theirs was not a real marriage. They’d said the words that bound them to each other, but Brianna doubted that Hugh intended to be any kind of a husband. Nor did she want one. She only wanted her life at Killiedown back. She wanted to study her breeding lines and choose strong mares and stallions here and in Ireland, and on the continent.

  If she could just get to Killiedown, Brianna was sure she could convince Hugh that she belonged there, and not at Glenloch. He could leave her at her home up north, near Muchalls, and go about his life as he pleased, without giving her a thought.

  She let herself in through the door nearest the scullery and started for the staircase in search of refuge in her own bedchamber, but was waylaid by Mrs. Ramsay.

  “Ye’ll be wantin’ a special wedding supper,” she said, “so we’ve—”

  “That will not be necessary, Mrs. Ramsay.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady, but I think ye’re mistaken.”

  Brianna stopped in her tracks. Mrs. Ramsay and Fiona had stayed until just past dark to help her alter Amelia’s gown, and the housekeeper had said little during the hours they’d spent together. Brianna assumed it was fear of attracting the ghost that kept the two women silent. Today, Mrs. Ramsay seemed to have no such qualms.

  She wiped her wet hands on her apron. “Ye may have marrit under…difficult circumstances, and ye’ve done yer auntie proud. But I’ve known yer husband since he was a wee bairn. I know that he can be a verra persuadin’ man.”

  Brianna felt a blush rise from her chest to her cheeks, for it must have been obvious to all that Hugh had persuaded her into his bed. And Mrs. Ramsay was absolving her of blame for her downfall.

  “M’lady, ye’ve done everything jus’ right thus far. Ye made a beautiful bride, and ye’re Lady Glenloch now. Doona repent this day.”

  How could she not? Hugh was not particularly enamored or committed to her. He had married her out of obligation, and nothing more. Glenloch would be yet another temporary home for Bree. Soon Hugh would leave Scotland without a backward glance.

  But he intended to have a wedding night.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Ramsay,” Brianna said, suppressing a sigh. It did not matter. “Thank you.”

  “All will be ready when we leave today. Ye’ll only need t’ light the candles.”

  It was hours until suppertime, and Brianna was not sure Hugh would come inside, even then. She might have to choke down Mrs. Ramsay’s special meal by herself while she thought about the life she might have led if Bernard had not withdrawn his offer of marriage at Lord Stamford’s objection. Or how her life might have played out if she’d been able to escape her guardian until February.

  Brianna missed Claire desperately and wished once again that she’d known of her aunt’s illness. She’d have hurried back to Killiedown the moment she heard of it, and not left her side until she was well. Bree knew she would forever feel the pain of remorse for her neglect.

  She wondered if Hugh felt guilt or regret over Amelia’s tragic death. Her suicide must have been a blow to him, even though he’d admitted they were not close.

  Brianna considered whether any society husbands and wives were ever close. Lord Stamford and his wife were not, and during Brianna’s seasons in London, she’d heard of several illicit affaires being conducted between married men and widows, between adventurous wives and their paramours.

  It was all exceedingly distasteful, and she did not care to be a part of any of it. Especially as the spurned wife.

  Brianna’s stomach clenched. Had that been the reason for Amelia’s suicide? The thought of it chilled her. Had Hugh left his wife here at Glenloch for months on end, to wander these haunted halls all alone?

  Feeling unsure what to do with herself and her dismal thoughts, Brianna went into the library and took a book from one of the shelves. She took it upstairs and went into the nursery, the only place—besides the library and Hugh’s bedchamber—where she felt comfortable. She supposed she ought to change out of her gown and
into the plainer dress, but it was her wedding day, and even though her husband had not seen fit to stay with her and admire it, she was going to keep it on.

  She built up the fire in the grate, then pulled a chair close to it. Unfolding the plaid blanket at the foot of the bed to wrap it around her shoulders, Brianna looked out the window that faced the sea.

  It was calmer than it had been in days, the water almost smooth, and it reflected the deep, dark, gray hue of the sky. Brianna shivered at the sight of those frigid depths and pulled the plaid tight around her shoulders. She remembered how cold that water was, and marveled that she had not killed herself as well as Hugh in her attempt to leave.

  If only—

  There was something in the water. It did not seem to be a boat, and when the clouds cleared slightly, she could see what it was.

  A body.

  Chapter 14

  He’s as welcome as water in a holed ship.

  SCOTTISH PROVERB

  Hugh finished in the stable, but no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t dispel his agitation. He felt as though he could unload one of Captain Benoit’s ships single-handed. Too bad they were not expecting another shipment in the near future.

  He pulled on his jacket, and when he opened the stable door, he saw Brianna running frantically toward him, with the servants right behind her.

  Hugh’s heart immediately jumped into his throat, but he quickly calmed himself. Brianna was all right, else she would not be running so determinedly.

  “Hugh!”

  He hurried out to meet her, taking her by the arms, noting that she wore their plaid blanket around her shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “There’s a”—she swallowed and caught her breath—“a body. In the cove. In the water. Drowned, I think.”

  Immediately, he started for the beach. “Go back to the castle,” he called to her and the others.

  But they ignored his order and followed him across the lawn and around to the sand. He started to run when he caught sight of something in the water. It did not look like a body from where he stood, and he sincerely hoped Brianna was wrong.

  But when he came to the edge of the surf, he saw it. A man, floating facedown, about twenty feet out.

  “Christ,” he muttered. Nothing like this had ever happened at Glenloch before, discounting Amelia’s death. And he did not need this now, not while more than a thousand gallons of undiluted, uncolored brandy was lying in tubs inside the castle.

  His remaining tub boats were tied to a stake, and Hugh went to them, marveling that this was no less than the second occasion this winter that he’d had to get into one of these small skiffs. It was not one of his preferred activities.

  He made no explanation, for what he was doing was obvious. And he tried to ignore the speculation he heard from the servants, who stood shivering in the cold as they wondered who the poor drowned sot was. They would soon know.

  “Ronan, run into the stable and get me a length of rope,” he said, then dragged one of the boats to the water’s edge, glad that he was wearing his oldest boots.

  “I hope ’tis no’ Artie Stewart,” said Fiona. “His poor wife—”

  “Hush, Fiona. We doona know if ’tis Artie,” Mrs. Ramsay admonished, but she was standing on her toes and craning her neck to try to see whoever was floating in the water.

  Ronan returned with the rope, and Hugh sent him to Falkburn to fetch his father, as well as Malcolm MacGowan and a few more men. Then he pushed off into the water.

  Brianna watched him jump into the boat and start paddling at a much more relaxed pace than when he’d come after her, to rescue her. If he had failed then, it might have been both of them floating in the cove.

  When he reached the body, he moved with firm deliberation. Clearly, there was no reason for undue haste, nothing to be done for the person.

  Hugh reached over the side of his boat and slid a circle of rope around the victim’s body. He then looped the opposite end around a clip in the boat, sat back down, and started rowing, dragging the body behind.

  It took only a few moments for him to return to the shore, where he jumped from the boat and pulled it in as far as he could, though the weight of the body seemed to work against him.

  “ ’Tis not a pretty sight,” he said to the women when he’d gotten the boat as far in as he could. He climbed back into the hull and went to the rear where the body still drifted, and pulled it closer to shore.

  Holding on to the rope, he jumped out of the boat again and looked up at Bree. “In fact, ‘twould probably be best if you all went back to the castle.”

  “Laird, ’tis likely one of our own,” said Mrs. Ramsay. “We’ll stay.”

  “This fellow is not exactly one of our own,” he responded, pulling the body from the water. “ ’Tis Angus Kincaid.”

  Brianna did not recognize the name, but she caught sight of the man’s tangled hair and his gray, bloated face just before she turned abruptly and walked a few steps away. Mr. Kincaid’s terrible fate was a bit too close to what might have happened to her, and she felt a surge of nausea at the thought of it.

  “What d’ye think happened to him, Laird?” asked Mrs. Ramsay.

  “By the look of that gash on his forehead, I’d guess he was given a good bash on the head and thrown into the water.”

  Bree could not imagine who would do such a thing.

  “Who is Mr. Kincaid?” she asked.

  “He is the customs surveyor from Stonehaven,” Mrs. Ramsay replied.

  “He was here a couple of days ago, inspecting the cove and the beach for signs of free trading,” Hugh said.

  Brianna’s breath caught. “Do you think…Who would have done this to him?”

  “He was not the most popular man in the Mearns,” said Mrs. Ramsay.

  “Easy to understand why, having met him the other day,” Hugh remarked.

  “Aye. He had a sour temperament, Laird, t’ be sure.”

  Free traders would be inclined to do him harm, Brianna thought, especially if he was getting close to a valuable shipment. “Would one of those Stonehaven ruffians have done it?”

  “ ’Tis possible,” said Hugh.

  Brianna turned to face the water, keeping her eyes averted from the dead man while Hugh detached the rope from the tub boat. From the corner of her eyes, she could see him pulling the body onto the shore.

  When he’d pulled the man far enough in to be sure he wouldn’t be sucked back into the surf, he came and took her by the arm. “You’re freezing out here. Come back inside.” He turned to the housekeeper and the others. “The rest of you, come, too. Nothing more can happen to Mr. Kincaid now.”

  They went inside, all of them going directly to the kitchen, where it was warmest. Meal preparations were in progress, with pots boiling on the stove, bowls and plates on the table, and cupboard doors standing open. Brianna knew Mrs. Ramsay was in the midst of preparing a massive feast that was unlikely to be consumed tonight. As laird, Hugh would surely have some official duty with regard to Mr. Kincaid.

  He let go of Brianna’s arm, and she shuddered and pulled the plaid more tightly around her.

  “We’ll have to send someone to Stonehaven for the magistrate. And a coroner, I imagine,” Hugh said.

  Mrs. Ramsay clucked her tongue and rubbed her hands together. “Laird, ’tis a world o’ trouble we doona need. Will a magistrate want t’ come out here to the castle, do ye think?”

  Brianna glanced at Hugh. “There’s brandy in the storage room, isn’t there?”

  “Aye. But we’re going to get it diluted and out of Glenloch as soon as possible.”

  She heard Mrs. Ramsay’s sigh of relief.

  “When MacTavish and the others get here, we’ll put Mr. Kincaid in the barn,” Hugh said, obviously making his plans as he spoke. “Then we can organize a gang from Falkburn to let down the liquor and get it out tonight. Perhaps ’twould be best if MacGowan and I took Mr. Kincaid into Stonehaven in the morning and had a talk
with the magistrate.”

  “Do you think Mr. Kincaid found anything?” Bree asked. “Is that why he was killed?”

  “I don’t know,” Hugh replied. “He might have. Or he could have been killed merely because he was an ill-tempered little man who was digging into places where he should not.”

  Everyone knew that free traders were not a particularly peaceful lot. If anyone got in their way, there could be trouble, with killings on both sides of the customs table. But news of any such altercations would surely have reached Glenloch.

  “Aye, Laird. ’Tis a good plan,” said Mrs. Ramsay. “But your wedding supper…”

  “Will have to wait,” he said as Mrs. Ramsay’s son-in-law arrived with another man. They came inside and warmed themselves in the kitchen before going out to collect Mr. Kincaid’s body.

  “Where’s MacGowan?” Hugh asked.

  “He went up t’ Stonehaven earlier today,” said MacTavish. “I doubt he’ll return before the morn.”

  Hugh frowned, clearly puzzled by the news. “What business has he in Stonehaven?”

  MacTavish shook his head. “I doona know, Laird. Only tha’ he left just after ye and yer lady said yer vows.”

  Hugh’s expression darkened and he left the kitchen with the other men, without bothering to speak privately to Brianna. But she knew he was thinking about those Stonehaven ruffians he’d mentioned earlier.

  When he was gone, Bree felt adrift. Mr. Kincaid’s death was a terrible occurrence, but it had little to do with her. And now that she knew that the brandy was going out tonight, she would ask Hugh again in the morn to take her home to Killiedown Manor, since it was not far past Stonehaven.

  Hugh started to leave, but his eyes alighted on the tub in which he and Brianna had bathed together. He felt his throat go dry as he recalled their incredibly sensuous encounter.

  He’d told her they would share a bed tonight, and he meant it, especially now, as he thought of the worn plaid she wore draped around her shoulders. It was almost as though the threadbare blanket served as a reminder of the closeness they’d shared in the croft on the beach.