Some Like it Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I had several proposals, but they were all younger brothers or minor titles. And then the Duke of Visford came calling, and offered to purchase my mother a new coach and a new house in London in exchange for my hand. She agreed before I’d even met him.” Elizabeth took a breath. “I don’t know if you’re acquainted with His Grace, but he’s … not a pleasant man. And he’s sixty-one years old and has had four wives already. The rumor is that the last one jumped out a window.” A tear ran down her cheek, and she frowned as she brushed it away.

  “Dunnae weep, lass,” Munro said, stepping over to put a hand on her shoulder. “Ye made yer way here. And ye dunnae have to go back.”

  When he glanced up, Ranulf was eyeing not Elizabeth, but him. “Aye,” the marquis said after a moment. “Ye’re safe here. How did ye end up in MacLawry territory, though, instead of yer own MacDonalds?”

  “I’m not certain. I took the wrong mail coach, and then I … I stole a cart, but I got turned around, and it rained, and—the—”

  “Hush, lass.” Munro made a show of guiding her to the room’s one chair and helping her sit. As he faced away from his brothers he flashed her an appreciative smile, which she returned. “Cat’s hiding outside,” he breathed. “She’s safe.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Am I?”

  “Aye. Ye are. I gave ye both my word. I dunnae think Cat wants to be caught, though.”

  “No, she doesn’t. I only wish she would tell me why.”

  “That makes two of us, then.”

  So Elizabeth didn’t know, either. That was interesting. But he couldn’t take the time to figure it out now. Now he had to convince Ranulf and the rest of them to ride away from Haldane Abbey because they’d seen all there was to see, and Cat could come back inside before the rain began.

  “Ye and Peter have done a fair job with this door,” Arran said, tugging on one of the uprights.

  “It’s a beginning.” He gestured at the hole in the far corner of the roof. “That’s next.”

  “I’d be happy to lend ye a hand,” Lachlan took up.

  “Nae.” He’d spoken too sharply and answered too quickly, but the idea of more men wandering about the estate, married and MacLawrys or not, wouldn’t sit well with Catriona. And it damned well didn’t sit well with him, either. Perhaps he was generally a generous fellow, but not today. He had to share knowledge of Catriona with her sister, and to a lesser degree with Peter Gilling, but no one else was invited. Or welcome. “I reckon I’ll see to Haldane on my own.”

  Ranulf put out a hand. “If ye want this old wreck, Bear, ye can have it. But it’s nae a place fer a proper English lass to lay her head.”

  “That isnae up to ye, Glengask.” Munro straightened to his full height. Apparently it was time for him to remind his brothers of his reputation. “The lot of ye are aboot to overstay yer welcome.”

  “What I mean to say, bràthair, is that Lady Elizabeth would be welcome to stay at Glengask. Ye cannae want her to sleep on the floor when we’ve soft beds aplenty. And that doesnae take into account all the MacLawry men we have aboot, to keep any Sassannach dukes well away from the lass. I’m nae acquainted with this Visford, but I reckon he cannae stand against clan MacLawry.”

  Munro stared at his brother. Of all the directions he’d thought the conversation might turn, Ranulf inviting Elizabeth to stay up at the castle hadn’t been one of them. He’d expected anger at the idea of a MacLawry stepping into the middle of Sassannach affairs, and fury that someone might well be stirring up trouble with the MacDonalds. At the least he’d anticipated ending up bloodied and bruised for lying about the entire thing.

  Before Munro could conjure a response that wouldn’t undo all the lies he’d just told, Ranulf walked up to Elizabeth. “What do ye say, lass? Shall I send fer a wagon and have yer things brought up to a guest bedchamber at Glengask? Do ye reckon ye can make do with a bit of comfort?”

  She looked from Munro to Ranulf. “May I have a word with Bear, first?” she finally asked, her voice a touch breathy.

  “Of course, lass. I need a word or two with Peter Gilling, anyway.”

  The footman cursed under his breath, but joined Ranulf and his men by the door. Hopefully Peter had figured out the game by now, and wouldn’t say anything to stir suspicions about a second lass staying here. As Munro tried to glare a hole through the servant, Elizabeth wrapped her dainty fingers around his arm and tugged him toward the hearth.

  “Is your brother being truthful?” she whispered. “Can he—will he—keep Visford or my mother from dragging me back to London?”

  “Aye,” he returned, nodding, and attempting to remind himself that for her, this wasn’t simply a distraction. “He’d nae give his word unless he means to honor it.”

  “Then I think perhaps I should go.”

  He blinked, more … disappointed than surprised. “What aboot yer sister?”

  “Whatever she’s hiding from isn’t about me. And I can’t help thinking she’d have an easier time of it if I wasn’t here to be such a nodcock about everything. And if your brother can protect me, well, that’s all I require. Cat couldn’t very well complain about it, either.”

  “Yer sister’ll miss ye, lass.” Nor would she like it. And she’d likely blame him, damn it all.

  “And I’ll miss her. But since she won’t trust me, I have to rely on what I think will help her—and me—the most. If I stay here now, your brother will send men to either watch me or look after me, and they’ll find Cat. If I leave, no one has any reason to return here.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “Except for you, yes? She shouldn’t be alone in the wilderness.”

  He took a breath. Elizabeth made sense, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, the moment Ranulf had ridden into view the MacColl sisters’ stay here had been put in jeopardy. This was merely the least objectionable of all possible outcomes. “She’ll nae be alone. And neither will ye. Whether ye’re here or at Glengask, ye’re still under my protection.”

  The wee, slender thing smiled up at him. It was odd that she was taller than Catriona, because it didn’t seem like it would be that way. Catriona not only had some delightful curves to her, but in his mind the way she stood up to him, argued with him, matched him, made her seem closer to his own height. A few weeks ago, before he’d met the wildcat, aye, he might have welcomed Elizabeth in his bed. But now he’d been struck—the only question was whether it had been by Cupid’s arrow, or some spoiled venison.

  “I think ending up here is the best thing that could have happened to the MacColl sisters, Bear,” Elizabeth was saying, “thanks to you.”

  “Dunnae thank me yet. I still have to tell yer sister ye’ve decided to go to Glengask. And ye still have to keep her presence here a secret.”

  “I can do that.”

  And with that, he dismissed her again from his thoughts. Yes, he needed to find a way to explain to Catriona what was afoot, hopefully before anyone tried to remove Elizabeth from Haldane. Even more than that, though, he wanted to know the reason Cat had looked so … lost, and even panicked, when she’d fled the kitchen earlier—an odd reaction to a conversation about which way a door should swing.

  His own reaction had surprised him, as well. Rather than the usual lust that coursed through him whenever he set eyes on her, he’d fought the abrupt urge to pull her into his arms and simply comfort her. Tell her she needn’t worry over anything because he would never let anything happen to her. That big as he was, the idea of making her cry, of upsetting her, scalded him.

  “What have ye decided, Lady Elizabeth?” Ranulf asked, shaking Munro out of his reverie and making him wonder why his brother was being so bloody polite. The Marquis of Glengask did not treat kindly anyone who attempted to mislead or trick him.

  “If you’re certain my troubles won’t be a burden to you, Lord Glengask,” she said prettily, “I gratefully accept your offer.”

  “I’ll send fer a wagon, then. Owen?”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary, my lord. If
two of you can take the bags with my necessaries, I require nothing else.” She gestured at the tumbledown kitchen. “Most of this I … acquired along the way. I think it would be rather out of place at Glengask Castle.”

  “I’ll fetch Saturn and Gilroy,” Munro announced, naming Peter’s mount. “Ye’ll ride oot with me, lass.” And he would take those few moments outside to have a word with her wildcat of a sister.

  “We brought the horses up with us,” Lachlan said, before Munro could even make it to the doorway.

  Damnation. What was he supposed to do now to gain a blasted second or two outside, claim he needed to take a piss? It would sound like the excuse it was. “Let’s get yer things then, lass.”

  “I havenae been here in ages,” Ranulf mused, strolling over to the fallen corner. “I think I’ll take a look aboot the grounds while ye pack up.”

  “And I think ye’ve stepped far enough into my business today, Glengask,” Munro said quickly. The last thing he wanted for either Ranulf or Catriona was for one to stumble across the other.

  His brother stopped mid-step. “Are ye certain ye wouldnae care to rephrase that, Munro?”

  So the marquis meant to be polite to the lass, but not to his own brother. Munro squared off. Perhaps this was where the brawling would happen. For Saint Andrew’s sake, he felt frustrated enough to enjoy tossing a few lads about. That was what he did, anyway. Brawl. Everyone knew it. They likely expected it.

  He hesitated for a bare moment. They would expect it, and that could work in his favor. “Didnae ye just give me this pile five minutes ago?” he retorted. “I’ve a mind to make some repairs. Ye can see the damned place when it’s finished. Ye cannae see it now, when ye only rode oot here because ye dunnae trust me.”

  “I didnae trust ye,” Ranulf agreed. “And dunnae expect an apology fer that when ye’ve been hiding a lass here. Ye certainly didnae trust me, now did ye?” Ranulf returned in the flat, low voice that had once caused a would-be assassin to wet himself.

  “I reckon that makes us even. It doesnae make me feel inclined to lead a tour. Or to allow one.” The best thing he could hope for was to make the argument about himself and Ranulf, and not about him keeping an additional secret his brother needed to uncover.

  Ranulf gazed at him for a long moment, his blue eyes cool and assessing. “I did give it to ye. And I suppose we can discuss what ye mean to do with it later. And elsewhere.”

  Finally Munro let out his breath. “Aye. We can do that. Put oot the fire then, will ye, Arran? And let’s head oot. I dunnae want Elizabeth caught by the rain.”

  Within five minutes the men had all of Elizabeth’s things—and most of Catriona’s—bundled into a battered portmanteau and a pair of frayed gunny sacks. Accustomed as Munro was to action, to acting on his impulses, he knew the best way to aid Cat at this moment was to do precisely nothing. And so he clenched his jaw, offered his arm, and escorted Elizabeth outside to the waiting horses.

  He managed a glance or two in the direction he’d last seen Catriona, but only weeds and crumbling stone wall met his gaze. Aye, she had the stealth to remain unseen if she wanted to do so, but he wanted to see that she was safe and doing as he’d asked and not planning to shove the building over on his brothers before they could make off with Elizabeth.

  “Ye’ll like Glengask, lass,” he said a little louder than necessary, as he released the nineteen-year-old to swing up on Saturn. “And as my brother says, ye’ll be protected there. It would take an entire English army to breach the castle; I doubt this Visford Sassannach would dare attempt such an idiotic thing.”

  “I believe you,” Elizabeth returned, facing Peter so the footman could lift her up sideways in front of Munro. “It’s splendid that Lord Glengask gave you Haldane Abbey. As much of a wreck as it is now, I think you could make it lovely again.”

  She spoke in a carrying tone, as well. Hopefully between the two of them they’d managed to inform Cat that her sister wasn’t being taken anywhere against her will, and that he would return to Haldane as soon as he could. Whether she wanted to see him or not was another question entirely.

  Forty minutes later Glengask came into view beyond the loch and the edge of the trees, and he relaxed a little. The entire way he’d kept half his attention on the wilds around them, watching for the glint of a musket barrel, a glimpse of a shapely leg in men’s trousers, shrouded sunlight on deep red hair. Nothing. Nothing but lowering clouds and a stiffening breeze.

  At best she’d returned to the Haldane kitchen, where she would have a roof at least, but no blankets, a drowned fire, and a very small quantity of cold rabbit stew. At worst—as far as he was concerned, anyway—she’d seen that her sister was safe and she’d struck off deeper into the Highlands where he’d never set eyes on her again.

  And here he was, trapped and forced into being civilized so he could keep his word to one sister while he broke his promise to the other. In addition, he’d made Elizabeth his charge. Escaping Glengask for Haldane had just become even more problematic.

  “Your brothers are very gallant,” Elizabeth murmured as she sat across his thighs, the golden curls at her temple tickling his nose as they approached the grand front of the house. “From what you and Cat said, I expected them to try to lop off my head.”

  They were being pleasant. Munro glared over at Ranulf, to find his oldest brother riding beside Arran and deep in conversation about something. As he watched, the marquis glanced back at him and away again. Even the thug he frequently pretended to be would know that something was afoot. More than once Arran had accused him of not seeing the entire forest in his eagerness to knock down a few trees, and he’d rather liked the metaphor. That didn’t mean it actually applied to him. Not entirely, anyway.

  “I hadn’t come out yet when they were in London,” Elizabeth went on cheerily, apparently and thankfully not needing him to contribute to the conversation, “but I heard the stories. They were in the newspaper nearly every day.”

  “The MacLawrys like to make a stir,” he contributed, edging Saturn up closer beside his brothers.

  “My mother was a guest at one of the parties they attended. She said she’d never seen such a fierce, bloody fight in a proper household.”

  If he hadn’t been more concerned with where Catriona was and what his brothers were discussing, he likely would have found Elizabeth’s conversation more interesting. He’d read the newspapers too, and he’d had letters from Arran and Winnie, but hearing the impression the MacLawrys made on Sassannach aristocrats who had no stake on the outcome—that seemed like it could be significant. Or at least entertaining.

  He didn’t have to be rude, though, especially when he needed to show his brothers that they’d best do as they promised where Elizabeth’s safety was concerned. “Yer mama lived on Islay, though, aye?” he offered. “Ye said ye didnae leave until ye turned eight.”

  “Yes. She married Papa two years before I was born. Cat was … five, I think, when I came along. But I don’t remember a party ever being held at MacColl House. I know Papa went to soirees, but Mama never went with him. She always said she had nothing in common with barbarians.” She visibly winced. “She said that. I always found Highlanders fascinating. Especially the ones with those huge, bushy beards.”

  He laughed. “I grew one of those once. When I saw my first whisker I refused to shave it off until I had a nice, bushy badger on my face.”

  “Why did you shave, then?”

  “It only took one lass saying she wouldnae give me a kiss because my beard scratched her cheeks.” That hadn’t precisely been where Bethia Peterkin had complained about the scratching, but the tale would do for a proper lass like Elizabeth.

  “Well, I’m glad you shave. You’re … Well, you’re quite handsome, you know.”

  “Thank ye fer saying so, lass.” He nodded, but she continued to look at him expectantly. Oh, right. “Ye’re a bonny lass yerself, Elizabeth.”

  She smiled, her cheeks darkening prettily. “Thank
you, my lord.” Tapping a finger on his sleeve, she looked up at him from beneath long eyelashes. “I would have been happy to remain, growing up in the Highlands. I had a sister here, even if our father treated her like a son. I thought I would be able to wear trousers too, and learn how to shoot and ride bareback.”

  Abruptly this conversation interested him a great deal. No wonder Cat moved so well in boots and trousers; she hadn’t donned them out of necessity, but because she was more accustomed to them than she was gowns and dancing slippers. “Did yer athair—yer father—try to raise ye as a son, too?”

  “I remember he came in with a kilt for me once. My mother threw it in the fire, because a lady never shows her knees in public.” She frowned. “We left Scotland less than a month after that. It was my fault, I suppose.”

  It sounded to him like Viscount and Lady MacColl had their own troubles aplenty. “Nae,” he said after a moment. “Ye were eight. That made Cat, what, thirteen? Yer mother had time aplenty to see what lay ahead. Ye may have been an excuse, but it wasnae yer fault.”

  “That’s what Cat said.” She flashed her bright smile again. “But I’m here now. And even more importantly, I’m not married to the Duke of Visford. You’re certain your brother won’t change his mind about having me here?”

  “He willnae. It’s aboot power, lass. We have someaught His Grace Visford wants, but he doesnae have a thing Glengask desires. Look as far as ye can see in any direction. It’s all MacLawry land. The duke could send solicitors or soldiers after ye, but well, we can make a bit of a stir, ourselves.” That was a damned understatement, but she didn’t need to know the details.

  “Thank goodness. I mean, Cat came and rescued me, but I thought she would bring me back to Islay. To our clan. When she didn’t, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t know if it was about her or about me, though. Whatever it was, the two of us were alone in the Highlands. This—you—feels … safer.”

  Safe? Him? Well, he supposed for a young English lass in the wilderness, anyone who could put food on the table and a roof over her head would feel safer than the idea of being on her own. “Thank ye,” he said absently, maneuvering Saturn directly behind Arran and his mount, Duffy.