“And thank you again for taking me in,” she said, with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You had no reason to do so, and I’m very grateful that you did.”
“We had reason,” he returned, noting honey-haired Charlotte’s arrival in the morning room doorway. “Ye’ll be part of the family soon. And the MacLawrys always look after their own.”
Her cheeks darkened, and she abruptly set down the teacup. “Oh. Yes, of course. I … Thank you.”
“Ranulf, I don’t mean to interrupt, but Sir Alpin Peterkin is here to see you or Bear,” Charlotte said, brushing her fingers against his arm as she walked past him to sit beside Elizabeth MacColl.
Just her touch made goose bumps lift on his arms. “Bear’s nae back, I assume?”
She shook her head. “And Lord Torriden’s playing billiards with Arran and Lachlan.”
Elizabeth looked up again. “I enjoy watching billiards. Do you think I might join them without making myself a bother?”
“Certainly,” Charlotte answered, motioning Ranulf to leave the room. “Finish your tea, and we’ll go upstairs.”
So his wife thought she might have more success in discovering whether Elizabeth was telling the truth or not. Very well; Charlotte knew London and its social intricacies much better than he did, and she was certainly kinder and more gentle.
Under most circumstances he wouldn’t care about one of the MacDonalds losing a potential bride and failing to reunite the two less-than-friendly sides of that clan. But Elizabeth was here, and that had brought the trouble to his doorstep. And so he needed to know whether he should be concerned or not. He’d stated to all and sundry that she was under the protection of the MacLawrys. If she was lying, that reflected on him. And he didn’t want to be responsible for any MacDonald troubles. Especially ones that didn’t have anything to do with him.
Sir Alpin Peterkin stood in the foyer, his hat literally in his hands. Generally the only dealings with the Peterkin family were Bear’s, and Ranulf could only hope that one or the other of Peterkin’s daughters hadn’t announced that she was pregnant. God, what a mess that would be, especially with a marriage to Elizabeth all but done. “Alpin,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s good to see ye up here. What might I do fer ye?”
The older man shook hands, shifting his proper beaver hat to his left hand to do so. “I’ve someaught, um, delicate to discuss with ye or Laird Bear.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I’m relieved it’s ye, actually, m’laird.”
With the morning room occupied, Ranulf led the way to the library upstairs. He’d discovered some time ago that meeting people in his office tended to unnerve them. “How is Lady Peterkin?” he asked, as they climbed the stairs. “Mrs. Forrest heard from someone in An Soadh that she’s been in bed with the fever.”
“Oh, she’s recovered now, m’laird. Thank ye fer asking.” He stopped inside the library door. “Might I close this?”
Hm. That didn’t bode well. “Certainly. Might I get ye a glass of someaught?”
“No, thank ye. I ken ye’re a busy man, so I’ll get right to it.” Sir Alpin shut the door and seemed to feel it necessary to remain close by the exit, which didn’t leave Ranulf feeling any better about what might be coming.
Bloody hell. He’d told his brothers over and over again to be careful. And while he wouldn’t have argued against Bear marrying either Bethia or Flora Peterkin, the lasses didn’t have a sackful of brains between them. Which, come to think of it, he’d considered to be Bear’s sort of lass. Elizabeth MacColl seemed far too dainty, but perhaps that had been her appeal; she wasn’t like most other lasses in the Highlands.
“I’m listening,” he prompted, when despite his stated eagerness to talk, Sir Alpin continued to stand there, grimacing.
“Oh. Aye. Um. Well, I ken that ye’re aware that yer brother, Lord Munro, has … been after my Bethia. For two years, now. She’s a flighty lass, Bethia. Her sister, too.”
Ranulf put his hands behind his back so he could clench his fists without frightening the man. He and Bear were going to have to have a discussion now, whether his brother was determined to avoid one or not. It would be wise to have Lachlan and Arran remain close by, as well, because if it came to a fight he could use the assistance. And Bear might listen to Lach, even if he wouldn’t pay heed to his older brothers.
“Um, well, it seems that withoot bothering to tell me, her own papa, Bethia has gone and promised herself to young Sorley Landers.”
Ranulf blinked. “Sholto Landers’s son? The physician?”
“Aye. That’s him. She has her heart set on him, and doesnae care aboot his profession.” He sighed heavily. “I had my own heart set on Laird Bear, but I cannae tell that lass what to do. I did think it my duty to tell Laird Bear myself, but if he’s nae aboot, then—”
“I’ll tell him,” Ranulf interrupted, hoping his keen relief didn’t show on his face. Bear had gone far past pursuing both Bethia and her twin sister, Flora, but if one of them had found someone else he didn’t think his brother would be overly troubled. Not with an almost-fiancée under his roof.
“Thank ye, Laird Glengask. That is one conversation I didnae care to be present fer. Do tell yer brother, though, that Flora isnae spoken fer. And she and Bethia—well, they are twins.”
“I appreciate ye informing me,” Ranulf returned, moving to open the door again. “And be certain ye let us know the date. We’d be pleased to help ye with the wedding feast.”
Now Sir Alpin was beaming. “That’s very kind of ye, Glengask. Very kind.”
Well, that was one problem avoided. Now he needed to gently steer Lord Torriden away—perhaps all the way to the Isle of Islay or back to Sutherland—to minimize the MacDonald presence here, and then get Munro to propose and set a date for the wedding. And then, by God, when all of his siblings were happily married and had finished with scandals and beginning clan wars, perhaps he could sit back and … relax. At least until their bairns grew old enough to make things interesting again. With a slight grin he went to go rescue his wife from proper chats and tea.
Halfway to the door, though, he stopped. Munro had practically eaten Lord Torriden alive on sight, but he hadn’t had any additional objection when the viscount had seated himself beside Elizabeth. And Elizabeth, who seemed to be fascinated with her clan, hadn’t gone to her clan when she’d fled London. In fact, she couldn’t have put much more distance between herself and her clan and still be in the Highlands.
Why go to the Highlands at all if she didn’t have any intention of seeking out the MacDonalds? In addition, how did a young lass who hadn’t seen Scotland since her eighth year survive in the Highlands for a month, by herself, and still manage to be clean, well fed, and wearing a proper set of shoes and a blemish-free walking dress?
With a curse Ranulf turned around again. “Owen!” he bellowed, striding back down the stairs to the foyer. “Find me my damned brother!”
The footman skidded into view. “Which brother, m’laird?”
“Bear.” Of course, Bear.
* * *
“What would ye be doing right now if Bear hadnae dragged ye out here to stack bricks?” Catriona asked, digging a shovel into the cold ground and loosening up the pile of stones that had settled into the old garden.
“Now?” Peter Gilling returned, straightening from the pile of lumber in front of him. “More than likely I’d be putting wee silver utensils on the proper dining table and pouring wine into a decanter. Glengask has guests, so then I’d have to polish up the candelabras and put on my gloves to serve the dinner.”
“Do ye like it?”
“I like being at Glengask. After old Glengask died, young Ranulf found himself a few lads from the clan who’d served in the army and who knew their way around weapons. He hired me and Debny and Owen and Cooper and a half-dozen others to serve in the hoose. Mostly, though, he brought us in to watch over his sister and brothers.”
“The old Glengask was killed, aye? There were rumors of that,
anyway.”
“Aye. And the new Glengask swore it wouldnae happen again. We work hard, we play hard, and we’re treated fair. Better than fair. I’d give my life fer any MacLawry, and I’m honored to help protect them.” He grinned, wiping his forehead. “I may nae fold the napkins just right, and I ken I talk a bit straighter to my betters than I should, but then the MacLawrys arenae like any other family ye’re likely to meet.”
And hopefully her cowardice hadn’t driven the youngest MacLawry brother so far away he wouldn’t return. She jabbed the shovel into the dirt. In her perfect world—or at least the one she’d imagined a few weeks ago—she lived alone and safe at Haldane Abbey, with the world far away from her. More recently her imaginings had begun to include Bear, at first coming by to chat with her, but now visiting her at least once every day and staying all day long.
Even that, though, wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. She couldn’t be a hermit who allowed only one other person into her life. By doing that, she would be limiting both herself and Munro. And so she would try, until she either convinced herself she could be social and not do something idiotic, or until Bear realized he’d fallen in love with the worst woman possible and did walk away for good.
He loved her. Just hearing him say it had given her some courage. Lord Torriden lurked only two miles away, looking for her, but that knife edge of terror and panic had dulled a little. Munro loved her. She wasn’t alone. Unless he’d given up on her, that was. After all, he’d vanished almost three hours ago.
“I hate to say it,” she offered after a moment of digging in silence, “but I think we’re going to be doing this same work all over again in the spring, after the snow melts.”
“Aye,” Gilling replied, “but keeping my hands busy is better than reminding myself that I let Laird Bear go off to the village withoot me. Again. He isnae supposed to do that.”
“Go after him, then,” she said, grimacing. “I was here before ye found me, and I’m here alone at night.” At least as far as the servant knew, she was. Actually, she’d forgotten that Munro was supposed to have an escort with him at all times; he’d come to visit her by night for the past week without anyone else being aware, much less riding with him. The idea that coming to see her might leave him vulnerable to an enemy of the MacLawrys made her shiver. Aye, he could take care of himself, but no man could stop a musket ball.
“I reckon I’ll stay here,” the footman commented, retrieving more scraps of wood. “I have orders.”
“Do ye, then?”
“Aye. ‘As long as that MacDonald buffoon is aboot, ye and I willnae take our peepers off Lady Cat,’ he said. Torriden seems too pretty to be much of a menace, though, if ye ask me. Fellows like that dunnae like to risk getting their noses broken.”
She hid a grin. “But Bear is pretty.” Or rather, devastatingly, devilishly handsome.
“I suppose so. But ye’ll never see him wearing those collars so high they poke a man in the eye if he turns his head. Or one of those neck ties with more frills than a flower.”
“I’ll have to agree with ye about that. I cannae precisely imagine him wearing a dandy’s clothes.”
Peter chuckled. “Aye. It’d be akin to ye putting on a lace gown, I suppose.”
Well, that hurt. Thunking the shovel against the bricks to cover her flinch, Catriona sent him a sideways glance. How did he see her? Of course she’d never worn anything but a shirt, jacket, trousers, and boots in his presence, because that was all she ever wore, and all she owned. But evidently even the idea of her putting on a gown was the stuff of hilarity.
She closed her eyes for a moment. That was the same uncertainty that had dogged her since she’d overheard Elizabeth’s mother mocking her attire, which Anne had taken to doing after the viscountess’s attempts to dress her properly had been rejected by the viscount.
“Sometimes I hate being correct.”
For half a heartbeat Catriona thought Bear was speaking. The voice wasn’t quite as low, though, and aside from that, she’d heard it before. With a shriek she lifted the shovel, whipping the sharp end around toward the well-dressed man standing in the shadow of the ruins. “Stay back!”
“Lass! There’s nae need fer that,” Peter Gilling broke in with a gasp. “Lower yer weapon! Ye cannae threaten the MacLawry on his own land.”
She didn’t want to threaten him. He was Munro’s brother, for heaven’s sake. “I only told him to keep his distance,” she retorted aloud, abruptly realizing she was very much alone again. Aside from the two huge deerhounds flanking the marquis, Peter would never so much as counter anything his clan chief said. “And this land isnae his,” she went on. “It belongs to Munro.”
The Marquis of Glengask tilted his head in the way that reminded her of his youngest brother. His eyes, though, were a hard steel blue rather than Bear’s crisp green. And those blue eyes continued to gaze at her levelly.
In fact, he seemed content not to say anything. Perhaps he was so startled by her presence—or her appearance—that he had no idea how to respond. Given what she knew about him, though, it seemed more likely that he meant to allow Peter and her to argue until he had all the information he required. His reputation had traveled to all corners of the kingdom—clever, hot-blooded, but with an ice-cold resolve.
Catriona lowered the tip of the shovel. The best strategy for her, then, would be to make him talk. “So ye’ve seen me,” she said, managing to keep her voice mostly steady. “What do ye mean to do about it?” There. Hearing him say something—anything—would serve to give her a bit of information. And the more she had, the better.
“Considering ye’re spoken fer by a MacDonald chieftain and that ye’ve brought the MacDonalds to my doorstep, I ken what I should do,” he replied coolly. “But ye’ve tangled my brother into it now.”
A scowl furrowed her brow before she could stop the expression. “I didnae tangle Bear into anything,” she snapped. “I told him to go away and leave me—us—be. And then ye came and stole Elizabeth, and he felt obligated to … look in on me, because I was alone. That puts this on ye, I reckon.” Whatever else happened, she wasn’t about to trap Munro.
“We’ll see aboot that, I suppose. In the meantime, if my brother’s looking in on ye, where might I find him?”
“He rode into An Soadh, m’laird,” Peter answered quickly. “He ordered me to stay here and protect the lass.”
The marquis lifted an eyebrow. “And I recall that I ordered ye to protect Munro.”
“I—”
“Go and fetch him. Now.”
Catriona didn’t turn around, but she heard Peter setting down that last stack of lumber and stripping off his gloves. A moment later the footman fled around the side of the abbey.
“Now,” Glengask went on, finally moving forward and taking a seat on the bottom half of a broken cherub statue. “I’ve an offer fer ye.”
“Do ye, then?” She kept the shovel in her hands, wishing the musket she’d leaned against a tree a few yards away was much closer. Glengask didn’t feel … safe. Bear didn’t either, but in a different way. Munro would never hurt her; of that she was absolutely certain. At the same time, he was a strong, dangerous man. Like a giant club or an axe. The marquis seemed more like a sword—sharp, well balanced, and fast.
“Aye. I’ve a thousand pounds in my pocket. It’s yers. All ye need do is make yer way into Edinburgh and nae come back here. I’ll tell Lord Torriden that my sources thought ye’d been spotted in Aberdeen, and ye’re as free as ye ever were, with enough money to see ye in a nice hoose with a servant or two.”
“And why would ye do that fer me?”
“Because the MacDonald wants ye wed to Torriden. I dunnae care fer either one of them, but neither do I want the MacLawrys put into the middle of another clan’s affairs.” He looked her up and down, and she was abruptly very conscious again of her man’s clothes and heavy work gloves.
Never mind that just the thought of living in a large town, having to wear a
gown and pretend she knew how to manage as a single lady in proper Society made her want to scream and cast up her accounts. Glengask wanted her gone because she could cause trouble for his family and for his clan just by her presence.
Oh, fleeing would be much more simple than standing there to be looked at by someone who viewed her as an inconvenience, as an object to be shifted and maneuvered in the way that best suited his own ambitions. That was how her uncle had viewed her. And it was undoubtedly how Lord Torriden saw her. Not Bear, though. He saw … her. Giving him up would utterly break her inside.
“Thank ye fer yer kind offer,” she said when she thought she could control her voice again, “but I must decline.”
“That’s very proper language fer a lass who dresses like a drover,” he observed.
“Enough,” Munro growled, striding into view, Peter on his heels.
Thank goodness. She didn’t need him to fight her battles, but simply having him there meant she wasn’t alone. Now, though, the problem became preventing the two brothers from coming to blows. “Bear, dunnae—”
“Did ye tell Torriden where to find her?” he demanded, skidding to a stop in front of the marquis.
Glengask kept his seat. “Nae. This isnae aboot him. It’s aboot—”
“Dunnae ye tell me what it’s aboot,” Munro interrupted. “Ye’ll nae say a word to Torriden, or I’ll see to it he never leaves Glengask alive. And ye’ll leave my Haldane Abbey. Now.”
“Look at her, Bear. She can take care of herself. Ye dunnae need to take in every wounded, peculiar animal who crosses yer path. This is trouble. Trouble the MacLawrys dunnae nee—”
Munro hit him. The marquis rolled backward, deflecting most of the blow to his shoulder and landing awkwardly on his feet. His expression looked more stunned than pained, as if he couldn’t quite believe that his own brother would punch him. Catriona felt stunned, herself.
Some Like it Scot Page 24
