Secrets to Seducing a Scot

by Michelle Marcos

“’Tis an outrage!” Guinnein Kinross bolted out of his seat around the negotiating table, leaving the other three men feeling the weight of his displeasure.

  Brandubh McCullough lowered his head pensively and took a deep breath. “It won’t do to bring our feelings to the table, Kinross. Let the man speak.”

  Kinross grumbled, but he returned to the table. The upstairs room at the Inverness courthouse was as cold as a larder, but the tensions around the table seemed to have raised the temperature. He sat back down at the table, sending ripples through the untouched whiskey in all four glasses.

  “Forgive us our outbursts, Commissioner,” said Brandubh. “We Scots cannot stomach injustice.”

  Earlington Marsh regarded Brandubh McCullough thoughtfully. He was the youngest of the three emissaries who had come to the table, but unlike the others in the Council, he had a cool head and a face absent of expression. A handsome man, too, with a full head of dark brown hair and intelligent navy eyes that seemed wise beyond his years. Just the sort of man he would expect to find at a negotiating table in a seat of government anywhere in the world.

  “There is nothing to forgive, gentlemen,” Earlington said. “We are all here for the same reason—to find a peaceful solution to the disharmony between our peoples. I for one am willing to do whatever it takes to ensure justice among all the king’s subjects.”

  “Are ye now?” spat Kinross sarcastically, barely looking at Earlington.

  “It seems to me, Commissioner,” began Hallyard Skene, “that Scotland fared better when she wasn’t among the king’s subjects.” Like Earlington, Skene was a man past fifty, but Skene seemed as if he had spent every one of those years in battle. Scars glowed whitely across his face, and he kept his arm tucked behind his blue, red, and green fly plaid, concealing the spot below his wrist where his hand was missing. “In the hundred years since the Acts of Union, Scotland has never been treated better than seventh-class citizens. We suffer like any nation with a remote seat of government. Our liberties are taken away one by one.”

  “Aye,” echoed Kinross, nodding his ginger head. “And now more taxation, with no measure of relief or benefit ? ’Tis an outrage.”

  Earlington was accustomed to dealing with politicians, men of words who utilized the subtle art of verbal manipulation. But these were not politicians. They were plain-speaking people who voiced their true sentiments loudly. Nevertheless, the three Scotsmen were powerful men with many holdings and much influence, and if they called for an armed insurrection against England, the people of Scotland would listen.

  “Kinross, I can certainly understand your displeasure with the new taxes. Parliament wishes it were not necessary to levy taxes on the people. But war with Napoleon has nearly bankrupted the government. We must rebuild, and to do so requires that we temporarily assess a sixpence tax on grain and other foodstuffs.”

  “It’s not just his displeasure you need to understand, Commissioner,” said Skene. “People are starving because of the tax. It’s gotten so that farmers can’t afford to eat what they’ve harvested. If they don’t meet the landlords’ percentage for the tax, they’ll be thrown off the land. Does Parliament mean to starve the Scots out of existence?”

  “Not at all, Skene. This war has caused widespread suffering among all the king’s subjects. The tax affects England as well as Scotland.”

  “But an Englishman earns more than a Scot,” he countered quickly. “And he receives all the services the tax supplies. Good roads, more schools … better courts.” He waved around at the room they were in, which was only slightly more dignified than a large barn.

  “Aye,” affirmed Kinross. “If there is to be a tax on the Scottish people, then the revenue should benefit the Scottish people.”

  “And don’t forget, Commissioner,” offered the young Brandubh, “an Englishman can sell his merchandise freely on the world market. A Scotsman is forbidden to trade directly, and so can’t earn a profit. If I wanted to trade my cattle with Germany, I’d have to first sell it to England at the going rate. Is that fair?”

  It wasn’t, but Earlington couldn’t say so. “These are all valid concerns, and you have my word that I shall bring these matters to the attention of Parliament.”

  “I’ll tell ye what would bring the attention of Parliament. Refusal to pay the tax.”

  Earlington shook his head. “That is not a solution, Kinross. It would only embitter relations between our countries.”

  “No more bitter than the sight of a mother unable to feed her children,” he retorted.

  “No one wants that, Skene.” As he spoke, Earlington detected a faint ache in his chest, and a thread of fear snaked through him. He waited for the crushing pain that had signaled his last heart seizure, but thankfully the ache went away. He took a sip of the whiskey to calm his nerves. “The king desires only peace, and to ease the suffering of the Scottish people. I am empowered to set a minimum fixed profit on livestock traded outside the country. You will henceforth receive a premium on every head of cattle you bring to London for overseas commerce.”

  “The tax, Commissioner,” reminded Brandubh, pounding the table with a finger. “We are here about the tax.”

  Earlington nodded pensively. “The tax on the grain must stand.”

  Brandubh snorted. “Ye see, gentlemen? I told you as much. The art of government is to make two-thirds of a nation pay all it possibly can for the benefit of the other third.”

  Earlington lifted his head. “Those are the words of Voltaire, sir.”

  “Aye,” replied the young man. “He was a great reformist.”

  “Reformist? Some would say a rebel.”

  “A rebel, aye. One on whose ideas stood the French Revolution. And the American. Perhaps the Scottish Revolution will be next.”

  “Forgive me, McCullough. But are you threatening civil war?”

  “And what if he is?” chimed in Kinross. “It’d be no less than yer king deserves.”

  “And what do your people deserve?” asked Earlington. “The war with Napoleon has taken too many of your young fighting men already. Your remaining soldiers, for such I must call them, are either too young or too old for battle.”

  “No Scot exists who can’t fight for his country.”

  “But will you deprive your women, who have already sacrificed their husbands and eldest sons to the war in France, of their fathers and youngest sons now? Be sensible, sir. Scotland has already lost too much.”

  “And now yer king threatens to take even the little that remains to us,” said Brandubh. For the first time, Brandubh’s face transformed into an expression. And it was not the one that Earlington wanted to see. “Ye speak the language of diplomacy well, Commissioner Marsh. But we will not be mollified any longer by soft words hiding whips and chains. There will be no tax. We’ll not pay it.”

  “Think what you’re saying, McCullough. You’re talking about treason.”

  “Not treason, sir. Justice.” Brandubh stood, and the other men did, too. “Take this message to yer king. Scotland rejects the British monarch as a tyrant. Our country’s people will fight to the death to reclaim our honor and our rights.”

  “My lords,” Earlington began in his most calming voice, “it is not in the best interest of your people to involve them in a revolution. They will be put down by dragoons. And there is too much misery already. Please sit down, and let us reason together.”

  “No more talk. The time has come for action.”

  Earlington stood and met his gaze squarely. “Then think on this as you are moved to action, McCullough. You—can’t—win. You don’t have the manpower, you don’t have the money, and you don’t have the weaponry.”

  Brandubh’s face became one of resolute aggression. “But one thing we do have, Commissioner—friends. France hates the English as much as we do. If they sided with the American colonials against ye, they’ll side with us against ye, too. And with the Americans, the French, the Irish, and the Scots against ye, ye’re the one, sir,
who can’t win.”

  Earlington sat down slowly, his knees weakening.

  “And that is something, gentlemen,” said Kinross, “that I’ll drink to.” He picked up the untouched whiskey and poured it down his throat. The other two Scotsmen did the same, and walked out.

  Earlington sat at the table, the three glasses empty before him. He couldn’t even contemplate what they had just threatened. Scotland, America, and France … all at once. These men weren’t after justice. Or even a revolution.

  What they wanted was world war.

  EIGHT

  In the study back at Copperleaf Manor, Lord Askey read the letter for the sixth time.

  “This is horrifying.” The crinkled joy at the corners of his eyes was replaced by an expression of dismay. “This is simply beyond any standards of honor and decency.”

  Earlington’s face was only slightly more composed. He had spent the last twenty years learning and speaking the language of diplomacy, and it always meant hiding one’s true feelings. But this was something he had never dealt with before. Concern marred his otherwise poised expression.

  Sing a song of sixpence,

  Parliament to defy,

  Four and twenty Scots brigades,

  Baked in a pie.

  When the pie was opened,

  Their swords began to swing;

  Wasn’t that a fitting dish,

  To set before the king?

  The commissioner in his countinghouse,

  Counting out his money;

  His daughter in the parlor,

  Eating bread and honey.

  And while in the garden,

  Unmindful of her foes,

  Came down a patriot Scot

  And sliced off her nose.

  A warning to you, Commissioner. England cuts off her nose to spite her face. Have a care, or we shall visit the same fate upon your daughter!

  Earlington had read the threat dozens of times, but each time he tried to analyze it his mind kept homing in on the threatened peril rather than on any deductions about who had written it. “What do you make of it, Askey?”

  “I don’t know what to say … I’m appalled. I didn’t think that tensions had come to such a head that men would resort to this kind of tactic. I’m ashamed on behalf of all Scots. One thing is for certain: I’d like to meet the evil, cowardly jackanapes who could conceive of such an abominable thing.”

  Earlington lowered his head. The letter had achieved its end: to elicit an emotional response. In both Askey and himself. But he could not allow himself hysterics. Calmly, he read the letter once more. Although it was difficult, he could not take this personally. It was not aimed at him, but his office. Whoever had been in his place would have received the same or a similar letter. Still, it was difficult not to take offense when the letter threatened not him, but his beloved daughter.

  Askey put his hand on Earlington’s shoulder. “You must know that no one will think any less of you if you decide to return with Serena to England. They can send someone else, someone without so much to lose.”

  So much to lose. Yes, Serena was the whole world to him. She was the only family he had left. He could not risk her welfare. And yet …

  He downed his glass of water with a shaky hand. “I cannot abandon my mission, Askey. The very fact that my family is being intimidated is emblematic of the need there is for continued talks. If an ambassador who brings peace can be menaced to so great a degree, what more will these people threaten to do—or do in fact—to an ordinary man and his family?” He sighed deeply. “It is … imperative … that I remain to discuss peace between our peoples. Freedom from strife is not meant only for one … it is meant for all.”

  Askey nodded, a proud smile on his face.

  The ambassador folded the letter just as he had found it—speared to his carriage door with a black dagger. “Nevertheless, Askey, I refuse to put your family in danger along with mine. I will make inquiries right away, and Serena and I will move to a place of our own at first light, if that’s agreeable to you.”

  Askey stiffened. “It most certainly is not. You will both stay here at Copperleaf. This is no fortress by any means, but there is still a measure of safety.”

  Earlington held up a hand. “No. I won’t hear of it. We’ll stay in Inverness. I’ll petition His Majesty for a brace of English guards to protect Serena.”

  The crinkles returned to Lord Askey’s eyes. “You can’t surround the poor girl with uniformed guards, man. She’s already champing at the bit to return home without you guarding her like a common criminal.”

  “I must shield Serena at all costs.”

  “Why don’t you send her back to London where she’ll be safe?”

  The ambassador shook his head. “We’ve had this discussion a hundred times, she and I. She won’t go, not without me. She desperately wants to return to England, but she adamantly refuses to go unless I go as well.”

  “What if you told her about the letter? Perhaps she’ll go then.”

  The ambassador rolled his eyes. “Not likely. I know her too well. She’ll only use it as an excuse to make me leave for London as well. Still, she must be told about the threat upon her person.” He raked a hand through his graying hair. “Poor creature. She’s miserable enough as it is without the added distress of this … menace. But there’s nothing for it. I must ensure her safety at all costs. For her own protection, I shall just have to take her with me wherever I go. She’ll be bored to tears, but she will just have to make do. At least until this whole problem is resolved.” He waved the folded letter in the air. “Or this knave is caught.”

  “Knave,” repeated Askey slowly, an idea taking shape in his mind. “Of course! I think I know who can help you.”

  “Who?”

  The crinkles deepened at the corners of Askey’s face. “Another knave.”

  Earlington’s face was a mixture of hope and puzzlement. “Who do you mean?”

  “His name is Malcolm Slayter. Well, Slayter is not his real name … that was sort of thrust upon him because …” Askey waved away the rest of the sentence. “Anyway, this man Slayter works for the British government. Mostly he’s called on by the Crown to hunt down renegades and fugitives from justice. He’s as cunning as a fox and strong as a lion, and he’s never lost a man yet. He’s an absolute master at predicting a criminal’s movements, and no one can stop the devils better than he can.”

  “Do you think he’d be able to identify the man who wrote this letter?”

  “If he doesn’t know, he might be able to point us in the right direction. But of one thing I am certain. There would be none better to safeguard your daughter.”

  Earlington’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “A protector, you mean?”

  “Absolutely. He’s as fearsome in appearance as he is in intelligence. No one will trifle with him. He knows more about the deceptions and violence of Scotsmen than any man still alive. His best skill is at preventing danger before there is even a need to counter it. He’s the perfect man to secure the safety of your family.”

  “Is he a Scotsman?”

  “He hails from the Highlands.”

  Earlington’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to hire a Highlander, not with the current atmosphere of discontent among that population. It would be too easy for whoever sent this note to bribe or coerce him.”

  “Not Malcolm Slayter. For a start, Malcolm belongs to no clan. He has no loyalties to anyone. The Scots consider him too English, and the English consider him too Scottish. Why do you think that His Majesty’s magistrates use him to apprehend Scottish renegades? He is faithful to his commission, and he feels no compunction about turning in another Scot.”

  “But is he friendly toward the English? I mean, where does he stand on the tax?”

  “I don’t know the man’s politics, Marsh. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any. This much I know: He won’t be corrupted against us.”

  “How can you be sure?”


  Askey shrugged. “Because the Slayters are an outcast kinship. As far as clans go, they’re the bastards. They don’t belong to Scotland, and they don’t belong to England. They’re loyal only to themselves.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to send for an English man?”

  “Hasn’t the note implied that they want the English to leave? The last thing you want is another foreigner here. Malcolm knows the people, he knows the terrain, and he knows how to fight. He’ll not disappoint you. I’ll send for him. He can be here in the morning. All I ask is that you meet the man.”

  Earlington rubbed his forehead. “You’re certain he can be trusted?”

  Askey put a hand on Earlington’s shoulder. “If it were my daughter needing protection, I’d use Malcolm. He’s the best man for the job.”

  NINE

  My dear Archer—

  I am certain, with ever-growing conviction, that I’m about to go quite mad.

  Scotland is a beautiful country, but I would enjoy it infinitely more gazing upon a framed canvas of it. It rains ten times a day here. Taking a walk through a Highland meadow should be an uplifting experience, until of course one stumbles upon the hidden danger of steaming cowpats. Then I’m afraid it quite ruins the mood.

  The food is deplorable. The common people hold in high culinary esteem cuts of meat that are only suited for being applied to black eyes. Their traditional dish, called haggis, is a giant sausage into which they stuff all the parts of the sheep you and I would feed to our dogs. And I shan’t disgust you by revealing the principal ingredient of something called “black pudding”—suffice to say that it is something only a leech could love.

  How fortunate you are to be in London! How I miss the sounds of the market bells clanging, the clatter of carriage wheels on cobblestones centuries old, the noise of hundreds of thousands of people crowded inside a few square miles, and the infinite and varied entertainments. There are more diversions in London in a single week than there are in the whole of Scotland in a quarter of a year.