Some Like it Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  “M’la—loving nephew,” Peter said from the doorway, making Munro wince. “I’ve set up a half-dozen targets fer ye and the lass. And I fetched yer rifle from Saturn.”

  “Saturn?” Cat took up, nearly succeeding in slipping a biscuit into her trouser pocket without him noticing.

  “My horse. Now that I consider, it doesnae seem fair fer me to pit a rifle against a musket. Why dunnae ye choose whichever one ye prefer, and we’ll both use it?”

  “Fine. My musket.”

  “Ye do ken a rifle’s generally twice as accur—”

  “I chose,” she interrupted. “Elizabeth, would ye come out with us? I reckon the odds of some other stranger bullying his way into the house are fairly small, but then Munro may have told any number of his other relatives about us.”

  All it would take was telling one particular relative, and she’d likely find whatever plans she had overturned and stomped into the mud. But this wasn’t any of Ranulf’s business, and Munro meant to see that it stayed well away from his oldest brother’s notice. “Nae,” he said aloud. “But I’ll take another witness so ye cannae dispute the results later.”

  And because he’d already decided that whichever of these lasses he wanted in his bed, he hadn’t been lying about one thing: now that he’d met them, he had an obligation to keep them safe. That held true even if part of him did hope that Cat would try to pummel him again so he’d have an excuse to sling her over his shoulder. Trousers or not, when she wriggled she was all lass. And he liked the way that felt.

  Chapter Five

  Ranulf glanced over at the empty chair to his left, then returned to his breakfast of blood pudding and tattie scones. Since the platter of scones on the sideboard was still fairly full, he would hazard a guess that Bear hadn’t yet risen. Potato scones didn’t survive long when Bear was about.

  After another few minutes of unexpected and unusual quiet, he turned in his chair to face the redheaded butler standing behind him. “Did ye ferget someaught, Cooper?”

  “M’laird?”

  “The newspaper, Cooper. I ken it’s nearly a week old by the time it gets here, but I do like to know what’s afoot south of Hadrian’s Wall.” He shouldn’t have had to explain it; after all, he’d been reading the London Times every morning for better than the past decade.

  “I couldnae find it this morning, m’laird,” the butler returned, his jaw clenching. “I’m certain it arrived last evening with the post, but this morning when I went to look fer it, well, it had gone.”

  “Is Arran here?” His younger brother made for the most likely suspect, but Arran lived a half mile away at Fen Darach with Mary and young Mòrag and another bairn due just after Christmas. Arran also received his own copy of the newspaper, the absence of which Ranulf only minded in that it disrupted one of the few orderly things in his day.

  “Nae, m’laird. Shall I send someone into the village to find ye another copy?”

  “Aye. We cannae have the rest of the family knowing things I dunnae.”

  “I’ll see to it right away, then.” Cooper gestured at Owen, the head footman, and the stout Highlander strode out of the room to begin bellowing for a groom and a horse.

  “Is something wrong?” Charlotte, Lady Glengask, asked in her proper English tones as she strolled into the morning room.

  Immediately Ranulf stood, his heart speeding just a little at the sight of his honey-haired wife. “Aye. My newspaper’s run off. We’re aboot to send oot the hounds.” Taking her hand, he leaned down to catch her mouth in a slow, lingering kiss.

  Her free hand slid around his shoulders as she kissed him back. “What was that for?” she murmured, her fingers flexing in his. “I saw you just twenty minutes ago.”

  “I liked what we were up to. Thought we might do it again,” he returned in the same tone. “After ye eat, of course. Cannae have ye wasting away.”

  Charlotte laughed, her cheeks darkening prettily. “I’m meeting Winnie and Mary in the village for luncheon,” she stated, giving him a last kiss before she resumed her way to the laden sideboard, “but I believe my morning is free.”

  That was a good thing; he was fairly certain he would combust if she’d had plans that didn’t include being naked with him. “Cooper. Send word to Father Dyce that I cannae meet with him this morning,” Ranulf instructed. “I’ll ride by the church this afternoon.”

  “Aye, m’laird. Ian, go see if ye can catch Owen.”

  As the second footman fled the room, Charlotte took the seat at Ranulf’s elbow. Two years ago breakfasts had been a mad affair, with Arran and Bear and Rowena, and more than likely Lachlan MacTier, all stumbling in with the two hounds and friends and whatever tales or stragglers they’d picked up the night before. Now Bear was the only sibling still to be found at Glengask, and over the past fortnight even he’d been absent from breakfast more often than he’d appeared.

  With Munro’s grumbling about all the domesticity suffocating him and then the growling he’d reportedly done at Lachlan when Lord Gray declined to go hunting with him, Ranulf had to wonder if his brother was actually feeling jealous. Or lonely, or left out. The past months had been so occupied with marriages and pregnancies and bairns that perhaps he hadn’t paid as much attention as he should have. That would have to change.

  If he dug into Bear’s troubles this morning, though, he was likely to lose both the time and the … desire presently coursing through him for the Sassannach lass currently drinking tea with her pinkie delicately lifted in the air. Ranulf took a breath. Aye, his family came first. Always. But Bear could come first this afternoon just as easily as he could this morning. He took a breath. “Cooper, let Bear know I’d like a word with him today, if ye please.”

  “I’ll see to it, m’laird.”

  “In fact, I’ll meet him at noon at the Bonny Bruce.” That should suffice; luncheon at the tavern would make Munro happy, and a meeting where they would both have to keep their tempers pleased him.

  “I’ll have Ian inform him as soon as the lad returns.”

  When Charlotte chuckled, he looked over at her. “What’s so amusing, leannan?”

  “I was just thinking that Cooper likely wishes you had your newspaper.”

  He snorted. “This is a quiet morning, lass. Nae brawls last night, nae cattle gone missing, nae a lass storming the hoose armed with a broadsword and looking for Bear.”

  “It was a shovel; not a broadsword. And as I recall it worked out well—for Bear, anyway.”

  Ranulf lifted an eyebrow at her coy smile. “Ye, my dear, are wicked,” he drawled. “I recall when ye were a proper English lass.”

  Charlotte leaned across the corner of the table and kissed him soft and slow. “That was before I met a scandalous Highland laird,” she murmured, and nipped his bottom lip.

  Standing, Ranulf moved behind her, helped her to her feet, then swung her into his arms. “Hang breakfast. Ye and I are going back to bed.” And whoever had his newspaper, he hoped they were enjoying it.

  * * *

  “Ye see?” Munro said, flipping the pages of the newspaper he’d set on the ratty table of the tumbledown kitchen at the center of Haldane Abbey. “There’s nae mention of any lass missing from London.”

  Cat slammed her hand down on an article about the overspending of Prince George, preventing him from turning the last few pages. “I’ll look for myself, if ye dunnae mind, giant. And even if they dunnae have a wee story about Elizabeth, that doesnae mean anyone’s stopped looking. It only means they arenae talking aboot it.”

  The woman refused to give even an inch. And while it did leave him frustrated and annoyed, her stubbornness also aroused him. Why, he had no idea, because she was a damned spitfire and the top of her head barely reached his shoulders, but there it was. “Mayhap ye could give me a bit more information aboot ye, then, and I could be of more help.”

  Dark brown eyes lifted to meet his. “I won yer silly shooting contest, and I asked ye for a newspaper. Here’s a newspaper. An
d ye moved the boards out of the hallway so I dunnae have to climb over them any longer. That’s as much help as I need from ye today. Ye may go.”

  Munro straightened, beginning to wish he’d taken the outcome of that contest a bit more seriously. Aye, he’d arranged it so he would be at Haldane, one way or the other, but Cat enjoyed ordering him about just a little too much. “As I recall, ye also wished for a door ye could bolt against me. I happen to have just such a door outside. Are ye still done with me, woman?”

  Those brown eyes blinked, and for a brief moment genuine surprise touched her expression. Then she visibly squared her shoulders, and he girded his loins for further combat. The lass likely ate any bouquet of flowers a poor, unfortunate beau might give her.

  “Ye cannae put a new door on the front of this wreck without any passersby knowing someone’s in residence.” She didn’t say anything else aloud, but her tone implied a “ye fool” at the end of the sentence.

  “It’s nae a front door; it’s a door fer the kitchen. And I didnae say it was new.”

  Silence. “Oh. All right, then. I suppose that’ll do.”

  “Thank ye, ye stubborn lass.” With that he marched back down the hallway and outside to where Peter Gilling sat eating an apple on the seat of a well-laden wagon. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” Munro said crisply, and with a grunt heaved the heavy door onto his shoulder.

  “Am I still yer uncle, m’l—”

  “Aye,” Munro interrupted, before the footman could finish speaking. The lass had made her first concession, and he wasn’t about to set her back up again by letting her overhear that not only was he not a gamekeeper, but he was the MacLawry’s own brother.

  “Then, nephew, have ye lost yer damned mind? Dunnae ye think someone at Glengask’ll miss a door?”

  “Nae,” he decided, stepping up into the house again. Glengask Castle had more than fifty rooms and probably better than a hundred doors. The unused linen closet at the back of an unused room in the corner of the east wing hadn’t been opened for at least five years. Now it didn’t need to be, because the door was about to be put to much better use elsewhere. Getting it out of Glengask without anyone seeing him had been a tale all by itself.

  Cat stood in the kitchen doorway as he approached, her gaze traveling up and down the length of him in a way that made him feel distinctly warm. Aye, he was a strong, fit man to be carrying a door about on his shoulder, and it was about time she noticed that.

  He set the door down and leaned it against the wall. “Yer door, Cat.”

  “The opening’s too big for it.”

  “That’s why I also brought wood and bricks and mortar. And unless ye ken how to hang a door, ye’d best stay well back.”

  Her sister immediately returned to mending a shawl by the fireplace. Cat, though, stood her ground. “I reckon I can use a shovel or a hammer as well as any man.”

  Peter walked up and handed her a satchel of tools. “That’s bonny, because I dunnae ken how my nephew and I can do it alone.”

  That wasn’t at all helpful, but at the same time Munro had no objection to keeping her close by him all day. “Let’s get the frame measured up, then,” he said, heading back outside for a stack of lumber.

  “I thought ye were Glengask’s gamekeeper.”

  She’d followed him. “In the Highlands a man does what’s needed,” he returned, ignoring the unexpected thrill that ran through him at her pursuit, instead pulling the boards out of the cart and then crouching to heave them up on his shoulder. “And what’s yer complaint aboot me being a handy fellow, what with ye being a lass who wears trousers and shoots dead-on with a musket?”

  “I’ve nae complaint.” She hesitated, then lifted a trio of bricks in her arms, cradling them against her chest as she fell in behind him. “I cannae help but wonder what ye expect in return for this door, Munro.”

  He sent back a glance at her. “Just a wee bit of trust, lass. That’s all I ask.” For the moment, anyway. Suggesting that he’d like to—that he intended to—bed her, would only get him a brick thrown at his skull now.

  “Ye give me a door, first. Then I’ll consider.”

  Her gaze skimmed him again as she turned away. She at least seemed aware now that he was male—or more likely, she’d decided his muscles could be useful. He wondered again which clan she claimed, or if she even had one. Given the obvious culture of her sister, he guessed that she did have a clan, and that she was no fringe hanger-on. If that were so, however, what had happened to send the two lasses fleeing into the wilds? And why was there no mention of an ongoing search for a missing Society lady in the newspaper?

  “Tell me someaught,” he said, pulling a hinged measuring stick from Peter’s satchel and unfolding it. “Is this yer last resort?”

  “What do ye mean, ‘last resort’?” she returned, from closer behind than he expected. “Having ye give me a door?”

  “Nae. Being here at Haldane Abbey. Was coming to MacLawry territory yer first choice or yer last one?”

  He heard her take a breath, but when she didn’t immediately tell him to mind his own affairs he busied himself with measuring the uneven opening. If she’d decided to at least consider answering him, he could call that a victory.

  “It wasnae my first choice,” she finally answered, her voice pitched low enough that her sister halfway across the room likely couldn’t hear a word of it. “I originally thought somewhere less … isolated would do, but Elizabeth cannae even pretend to be a Scot.”

  “Ye mean her pretty ways make ye too noticeable.” As opposed to Cat’s wearing trousers—which any red-blooded man would have to be blind not to notice.

  Another hesitation. “Aye. And that’s all I’m saying about it.”

  “Did I ask ye anything else?”

  “Ye—”

  “Excuse me, lass.” Peter edged by them to set another pile of bricks against the wall.

  Both Munro and Cat jumped. Damnation. He, at least, knew better than to forget his surroundings. Out in the middle of nowhere could be the most dangerous place for a MacLawry sibling to be. “Do ye reckon we have enough mortar and plaster, uncle?” he asked, mostly to remind the footman yet again of their charade.

  “Aye, unless ye decide to patch the corner of the ceiling,” Gilling returned, gesturing at the spot where sunlight glinted through the roof. “We dunnae have the tarp yet, though.”

  Oh, they would be repairing the roof. Just not today. “Help me mark the lumber, will ye?”

  The lads generally hired to make repairs and build cottages in An Soadh had been eager to sell him supplies, even after he’d awakened them at four o’clock in the morning by pounding on their door. Both men, though, had asked where he was headed and whether he needed more assistance, so he and Peter had actually left the village westbound before circling around to the south and east. Little as he knew about these sisters, he was quite aware that he’d been supremely serious when he’d said he would protect them—protect her—whether they wanted his assistance or not. And that meant even from the curious of his own clan.

  “Tell me someaught,” Cat said after a moment, crouching to hold a plank steady as he marked it. “With all the time ye’ve spent here, hasnae his lordship noticed ye shirking yer duties? Are ye nae worried ye’ll be sacked?”

  “His lordship’s table doesnae lack fer meat,” he returned truthfully. “I reckon as long as that’s so, whatever else I choose to do with my time is my own affair.” He straightened. If they were circling back around to questions about the MacLawrys, he needed to change the subject. “In fact, I’ve some beef in the wagon fer ye. Uncle?”

  Gilling sank down against the wall. “I reckon ye’ll have to fetch it yerself, nephew,” he said, sending his employer an uncertain glance. “My back’s near broken.”

  Well, he’d made the footman his uncle, so he supposed he’d have to live with the consequences of that—until they returned to Glengask, anyway. And it would give him a moment to consider how much more lyi
ng he wanted to do. “Then take a rest, old man. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  From the look Bear sent her, he clearly expected Catriona to tag along after him. Instead, she plunked herself down next to his so-called uncle. The giant had proven himself adept at avoiding her questions, but Peter Gilling didn’t seem nearly as glib—and she had some suspicions for which she needed some answers. The moment Munro turned down the hallway, she sighed.

  “Bear’s helping us isnae going to cause him trouble, is it?” she said with a frown. “I know Lord Glengask has two brothers and a sister, the lot of them all married over the past two years. That’s a great many mouths, when ye add in the bairns and the servants.”

  “Lord Arran has his own house at Fen Darach, and Lady Winnie lives with Lord Gray at the MacTier hoose,” the grizzled fellow returned. “It’s only Glengask and his lady and their wee bairn William at the castle now, along with L—the youngest brother. He isnae wed yet.”

  “And what’s his name?”

  Gilling’s eyes widened, and then he abruptly began coughing. “Och,” he managed, between bouts of hacking, “a bit of … water … lass.”

  Elizabeth hurried over with a handleless mug, and he gulped the contents down ferociously. Then he needed more water. By then Catriona was fairly certain of the reason behind his abrupt ailment. Good heavens. She’d wanted a place where she and Elizabeth could disappear, or at least remain anonymous. If her suspicions were true, Bear was the very last person with whom she wanted to be acquainted.

  When he strolled back in, she rose to poke a finger into his hard chest. “So yer uncle seems to have forgotten the name of the youngest MacLawry lad. Since this laird lives with the marquis at Glengask Castle, I reckon ye ken who he is. Why dunnae ye tell me, then?”

  Bear looked from her to the abruptly silent older man. “Didnae I tell ye to keep yer gobber shut, Peter?”

  “Aye. She tricked me, though.”

  And doing so had been much easier than she’d expected. But she wasn’t about to give Bear time to think up some other lie or excuse or to drop dead of the plague or something. She poked him again. “What is his name?” she demanded, jabbing her finger in time with her words.