Some Like it Scot

by Suzanne Enoch

  “What did Duncan see, exactly?” he asked.

  “He was oot riding with his Julia when he saw a coach and outriders heading this way doon the main road. He said they were flying a MacDonald banner, but couldn’t decide if it was a peace gesture, or if they were declaring war on us.”

  “So ye’re going to step oot onto the drive and hope they dunnae shoot ye?” However much his attention centered around Cat, this wasn’t just about her. If the MacDonalds meant trouble, he wasn’t about to allow Ranulf to step into the middle of it.

  “I’m a cautious lad,” the marquis commented, lifting an eyebrow. “I have armed men standing at the front of the hoose, and up on the widow’s walk. If the MacDonalds mean trouble, they willnae get very far with it.”

  “But they’re my … cousins, or some such thing,” Elizabeth broke in, her happy grin fading. “Why would they want to make trouble?”

  “I dunnae think they will, lass,” Arran put in, sending her an encouraging smile. “Anytime two clans meet when they’ve nae had dealings together before, we try to be … prepared.”

  “Oh. That makes sense then, I suppose.”

  “Ye and Charlotte stay inside until I decide everyone means to behave themselves. I anticipate a friendly chat and everyone leaving satisfied,” the marquis continued, nodding. “After all, we’ve something of mutual benefit to discuss.”

  Or so the MacLawrys thought, anyway. The MacDonalds might be here to discuss his marriage with Elizabeth, or they might not be. Munro looked at his gathered family members again. A lie about who he might be wooing was one thing. Protecting Cat from questions she didn’t want to answer was one thing. Keeping information from his family that could put them in danger was something else entirely.

  Damnation. This, he hadn’t anticipated, and while he could blame the arrival of the MacDonalds on Ranulf, anything that happened next would land squarely on his shoulders. “Ran, I need a word with ye. In private.”

  His oldest brother frowned. “Ye’ve poor timing, Bear. Can it wait?”

  “Nae. It’d best be now.”

  “Then come—”

  The pipers on the roof began playing. He was too late. Now the best he could do was keep everyone else safe. Including the woman living two miles away who had no idea the MacDonalds were literally on her doorstep.

  * * *

  Ranulf sent a last glance at his youngest brother, tempted for a moment to have the MacDonalds wait outside regardless of the consequences. After all, he had invited a correspondence, not a visit. Something clearly troubled Bear, and he didn’t think it was simply because he’d sent word to Elizabeth’s distant family without receiving permission to do so. Firstly, he was the MacLawry, and he didn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything. Secondly, he’d done it to help both Bear and the clan MacLawry.

  Making whoever the MacDonald had deigned to send south wait, though, could well cause the very trouble he’d been attempting to prevent. And so he nodded at Cooper, and the butler pulled open the double front doors.

  He stepped outside first, as was his duty and his right. Generally Bear and Arran would flank him, but today his mountainous youngest brother moved directly to his side, his posture decidedly … unfriendly. Aye, he could read his brother’s moods better than most, but a hostile Munro MacLawry would be difficult for anyone to miss. And considering he was about to meet his future in-laws, however distant they might be, his demeanor didn’t make much sense.

  “Easy, Bear,” he muttered, as the coach, its green and blue and red MacDonald colors flying, drew to a halt in front of them. “The lass’s disagreement is with a Sassannach duke, nae with the MacDonalds. Dunnae start trouble here fer no reason.”

  “I reckon I’ll decide whether or nae to be friendly after I make their acquaintance and hear their terms,” his brother returned.

  “Ye’ll be cautiously friendly until I tell ye otherwise,” Ranulf countered.

  Munro sent him a hard glance, his jaw clenched. “Aye,” he grunted after a moment, rolling his shoulders. “Cautiously friendly.”

  The dozen outriders, half of them in MacDonald plaid, dismounted to gather about the coach door. Whoever happened to be inside, his guards, at least, had come prepared for trouble. None of them carried weapons other than the traditional daggers in boots and stockings, but Ranulf had seen for himself how much damage a well-placed sgian dubh could cause. Then again, he couldn’t blame them for their caution. They had a six-and-a-half-foot granite tower of muscle staring them down.

  Inwardly sighing at his less-than-cooperative brother, Ranulf stepped forward as the coach door opened. If they’d all been friends, Cooper and a footman would have approached the coach and helped the occupant or occupants to the ground, but when strangers known to be less than friendly arrived, they were on their own, and left out in the open until they made their purpose known.

  From the capable-looking entourage he’d half expected the MacDonald himself to emerge, but the man who stepped to the ground was at least three decades younger than the Earl of Gorrie. The young man flashed a smile, brushed light brown hair from his forehead, and motioned his men away.

  “Please, lads. The MacLawry isn’t going to slaughter me before we’ve even said our good mornings,” he drawled, his accent more English than Scots. “You are Lord Glengask, aye?”

  “Aye.”

  “Splendid.” He stuck out his hand. “Charles Beaton. Viscount Torriden.”

  Torriden. “Ye’re one of the MacDonald’s clan chieftains,” Ranulf said, shaking hands with the fellow.

  “I am. I apologize for not sending advance word that I was coming. The MacDonald intended to send you a return letter by messenger, but I volunteered to carry it, myself.”

  Ranulf studied his unexpected guest as the lad continued chatting about the state of the roads and the weather. Either Lord Torriden was supremely oblivious, or he was pretending to be so. At least a dozen rifles and muskets were pointed in his general direction, and he stood face-to-face with all three MacLawry brothers, but he continued to behave as if he sat in the drawing room of an old auntie or something.

  “Lord Torriden, my brothers Arran and Munro.”

  Arran stepped forward readily enough, a bemused expression on his lean face, to shake the viscount’s hand. Bear, though, hesitated. Ranulf held his breath, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake in notifying the MacDonalds about his brother’s impending marriage. Finally Bear met Lord Torriden’s outstretched hand and didn’t tear it off, which Ranulf decided to take as a positive sign.

  “Since I’m unexpected, please allow me to explain my presence,” the viscount went on, in his smooth, cultured voice.

  “Ye’d best make it a good story,” Munro drawled, lowering his hand again.

  When the MacLawrys met with someone, they were united. That was the rule, and that was the law. Privately they could disagree, but in public they spoke with one voice. That was why they were respected, feared, and unmatched in the Highlands. Whatever had Bear’s kilt in a twist, he either needed to control his hostility or go elsewhere. Immediately.

  Ranulf leaned closer to his brother. “Ye shut yer gobber, or I’ll shut it fer ye,” he whispered, keeping his expression cool and relaxed. “I’ll nae warn ye again.”

  Bear closed his eyes for a moment. Finally he opened them again. “Then make certain he’s an ally, and ye’ll have naught to worry aboot.”

  Taking a breath, Ranulf moved Arran between Bear and their guest. “Watch him,” he murmured.

  “Aye. Shall I fetch a club?”

  Hopefully Torriden didn’t realize how much potential danger he was in. Ranulf inclined his head, gesturing toward the front door. “We’re aboot to sit doon fer luncheon. Ye can tell us yer tale over steak-and-kidney pie.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. I admit, I wasn’t certain what sort of greeting I would receive here, especially coming unannounced as I have.” He looked over at his gathered men. “We’re all friends here, lads
. No fights.”

  “Ye heard the viscount,” Ranulf echoed, signaling his own men to stand down. “Show the lads to the kitchen.”

  As the mingled MacLawrys and MacDonalds trooped around the side of the house to the servants’ entrance, Ranulf led the way into the foyer. “Laird Torriden, my wife, Lady Glengask, and our guest, Lady Elizabeth MacColl.”

  The wording was as deliberate as it had been when Bear had used it a week earlier, and against him. As a guest of the MacLawry, Elizabeth would be protected by the might of the clan. And that might was considerable. With her very distant connection to the MacDonalds, that protection should be unnecessary, but Bear was being hostile about something. Before he relaxed his own guard, he meant to know what it was.

  The viscount immediately stepped forward to bow at Charlotte and take Elizabeth’s hand. Kissing her knuckles, he favored the young lass with a bright smile. “Lady Elizabeth. You’re the reason I’ve come all this way. I’m so pleased you’re still here.”

  Hm. Perhaps Bear did have something to be concerned about, if Torriden was after Elizabeth himself for some reason. But her engagement to the Duke of Visford had been announced, because he’d checked the London newspapers himself to be certain. To his knowledge no MacDonald had protested it.

  Elizabeth smiled, but retrieved her hand quickly. “I don’t understand, my lord. I know we’re both part of clan MacDonald, but I haven’t seen my father’s side of the family—or the Highlands—for years and years. Why are you looking for me?”

  “The dining room’s this way,” Bear put in, gesturing. “Mayhap ye can tell the lot of us why ye’ve come here in such a hurry.”

  “Certainly.” Torriden offered Elizabeth his arm as they all headed for the informal dining room. “I’d heard, of course, that you’ve been living in London. What I’m hoping is that you might have some information for me.”

  “What sort of information?” she asked, sitting beside him at the long table.

  Ranulf took the chair at the head of the table, keeping Charlotte directly on his left, and Munro on his right. His brother’s behavior continued to baffle him, and he wanted to be close enough to grab hold of him if that became necessary. With Elizabeth about to leave the MacDonalds for the MacLawrys, Bear should have been going out of his way to be welcoming to Torriden. And he should have tried to take the seat on Elizabeth’s other side. And he should have disliked the immediate attention with which the viscount favored his nearly betrothed, not the man’s presence itself.

  None of it made much sense, and he disliked the feeling that he’d missed something. Up in the Highlands, missing things got people killed. “What can we do fer ye, Torriden?” he asked. “I figured to settle any negotiations between our clans by letter.”

  “Ah. Yes. I nearly forgot.” The viscount pulled a letter from his breast pocket and handed it down the table. “My presence here isn’t about Lady Elizabeth and your brother. Not directly.”

  “Nae? Then what—”

  “I wanted to know, my lady, if you’ve had any contact with your half sister, Lady Catriona. She vanished a week or so before you fled London. We’re to be married.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth’s surprised, half-panicked glance caught Munro as he willed her to keep her wits about her. All the while he had to work equally hard to keep his seat and not go smash pretty Lord Torriden in the face. Of all the damned things he’d speculated over, Cat being promised to another man hadn’t been one of them.

  “My sister?” Elizabeth stammered. “Cat? She’s missing? What happened?”

  Thank Saint Andrew. “I didnae ken ye had a sister, Elizabeth,” he said aloud, putting a frown on his face.

  “I do. My half sister, Catriona. She’s five years older than I am.” She took a swallow of tea, looking as though she wished it was something stronger, and faced the viscount. “I’ve corresponded with her over the years, but I have no idea where she might be. Please tell me what happened.”

  Munro wanted to hear that, himself. This would have been so much easier if Cat had trusted him enough to tell him that she was betrothed, and that for some reason she didn’t want the marriage. Now he had to scramble to catch up, and hope that Elizabeth didn’t unintentionally say something to give the game away.

  He looked at Torriden all over again. Too pretty by half, he decided, and a year or two younger than himself. All manners and sticking out his pinkie when he drank from his cup of tea. What was it about him that Cat had disliked enough to flee her home and family for a broken-down ruin in the middle of a rival clan’s territory? Whatever it was, the idea that this … dandy had a claim on his woman didn’t sit well. At all.

  The viscount downed a proper-sized mouthful of steak-and-kidney pie, then wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I don’t know if you’re aware or not, Lady Elizabeth, but the MacDonalds of the Isle of Islay have been estranged from those of us in Sutherland to the north. Your uncle Robert, the Earl of Islay, de—”

  “I know who my uncle is. He took my father’s title when Papa died.”

  “Aye. And my condolences on the loss of Randall. He was a … unique soul.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. And thank you for calling him unique rather than eccentric. I have heard some of the tales, you know.” Elizabeth took a breath. “But what did Uncle Robert do?”

  “He arranged for your sister to marry me. He and the MacDonald evidently thought it would go a long way to mending some fences. But then she vanished. In the middle of the night, from what I heard. I thought she might have eloped with some young man she favored, but your uncle doesn’t seem to think that’s the case.” His smile looked more like a grimace. “I’d hoped she might have contacted you, since you both left your homes at approximately the same time.”

  “The lass said she didnae ken where her sister is,” Munro interrupted, jabbing a fork into his luncheon. “Asking her the same question five times’ll only get ye the same answer five times.”

  “Bear,” Ranulf cautioned from his left shoulder. “Did ye think to look in London? Mayhap she went to find her sister, nae realizing Lady Elizabeth had come north.”

  “I have a number of relations in Town,” the viscount returned, “but while they said a redheaded figure was rumored to have been seen in the vicinity of Derby House, they actually thought it might have been a secret beau of yours, my lady, sweeping you away to Gretna Green before you could be married off to awful old Visford.” He cleared his throat. “I am assuming I may refer to him as awful, since you did flee London.”

  “You may refer to him as anything you wish,” she stated, her voice a bit unsteady. “I intend to have nothing further to do with him.”

  “So there was no redheaded lad accompanying you?”

  “No. That would have been horribly scandalous! And my sister isn’t a lad, anyway, so I don’t see how that would matter even if it was true.”

  Munro decided he needed to give Elizabeth a bit more respect. She certainly knew how to whip a polite conversation about to her advantage. That was the sort of thing a lady learned how to do in London, but she did it well, and for a damned good cause.

  The viscount’s cheeks colored. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I had heard that your sister…”

  She faced him directly. “That she what?”

  “That … she has red hair. I thought she might have donned a disguise. I see that is not the case, though.”

  Munro knew Cat hadn’t just begun wearing trousers when she’d found Haldane Abbey. She had a reputation for dressing as a man, and he had more than a suspicion that had prompted some of her concern about being seen as mannish and unsophisticated. The Sutherland MacDonalds apparently knew about her choice of wardrobe, as well, and bloody Torriden thought it would be insulting to come out and directly say that Catriona wore trousers. The buffoon. Any lass with legs as shapely as Cat’s could wear any damned thing she pleased, as far as he was concerned. And he meant to be the only one to see them up clos
e, anyway.

  “No, it isn’t the case,” Elizabeth agreed. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way to hear I cannot help you.”

  “I am not sorry,” the viscount countered with his charming smile. “At the worst, I’ve been able to meet my betrothed’s sister. At best, perhaps she will find her way here, looking for you.”

  The big grandfather clock in the foyer began chiming, and Munro abruptly realized it was noon. Damnation. He’d told Cat he would be back at Haldane two hours ago. And he now had several reasons for wanting to see her again, first among them being why she’d decided it would be better for them both if he didn’t know she’d already been promised to another man. She didn’t seem to be playing at this, but he did have his own code of honor. He’d never bedded another man’s woman—until now, apparently. And he didn’t mean to stop, either.

  Conjuring a grin that felt hard around the edges, he pushed to his feet. “Pretty as all this talk is, I reckon ye dunnae need me fer it. I’ve some work to see to.” Not waiting for permission or denial, he walked around the table for the door and stepped into the hallway.

  Ranulf couldn’t very well stop him from escaping, because his brother had locked himself into being polite. A polite host didn’t leave the table in the middle of listening to the lamentations of a guest. Fortunately, Munro wasn’t a polite fellow, and he’d never been expected to be one.

  “Where’s Gilling?” he asked, as one of the maids crossed the hallway.

  “In the kitchen, with those MacDonald lads,” she answered, stopping to dip a curtsy.

  “I’ll thank ye to go tell ’im to get his arse to the stable.”

  She grinned. “I shall do that, m’laird.”

  “Thank ye, Gormal. And tell him to fetch me a half-dozen eggs, while he’s at it. And a sack of tea.”

  As he headed for the foyer the two deerhounds emerged from the morning room, where they’d apparently been banished upon the MacDonald company’s arrival. He scratched Fergus and Una behind the ears, then glanced over his shoulder. A little disruption would serve that dandy Torriden right. Having one of the hounds take a nip out of his arse would certainly make him feel better.