Passion and Plaid - Her Highland Hero (Scottish Historical Romance)

by Karin, Anya

  “But surely there must be differences.”

  “Oh to be certain there are many things. For one, we pray five times per day, or at least many of us do. And our food – how I miss the spices – our food is lighter and less rich that what you eat here to ward off the cold. We take our meat, our bread, and add so many spices to it that our cheeses and our dishes match the rainbow of colors you’d see in our clothes.”

  “I can’t even imagine. I’d love to visit one of your markets one day. To see all of this.”

  “Ah,” he laughed under his breath. “No, no, Mi – sorry, Kenna, it isn’t the sight that is most teased. While the sights are fascinating, the true pleasure of our markets are the smells of the spices and the taste of all the foods.”

  She watched his deep brown eyes twinkle as he told her of the food stands, the mosques and the beautiful buildings of his homeland. “I wish it was you inviting me to dinner. I’d love for you to meet Gavin as well. I think you two will get on famously.”

  “Oh, what a compliment you pay me. I’m certainly not interesting enough for all that. Although, it is possible we’ll meet. You’ve heard of the Duncraig and Mornay’s Cleft festival, yes?”

  “Aye, I have. Soon, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “Two days. Or less I suppose now. But yes, very soon. Hopefully I will see him there. Hopefully I will see him there, and you.”

  Kenna pursed her lips. “Assuming of course I leave here before that happens. I worry that I won’t.”

  Rollo carefully studied Kenna’s face for a moment before letting a slow smile creep across his face. “It’s not his fault,” he said. “I know that’s hard to believe, but truly, the mayor didn’t choose this life.”

  “Ach! Maybe he didn’t choose it, but he’s choosing to keep me here, and to keep you here, and to burn half the woods in Scotland for whatever reason he’s got. And what on earth is he cavorting with the East India Company for? For someone who isna at fault, he makes it easy to see blame on his shoulders.”

  “That...yes, that’s a hard thing to explain, I can’t deny. It’s out of his character. Very out of his character. When I first heard of all this business, I imagined that the only way Master Willard would be involved is if someone was in some way threatening him, or...well, that’s really all I’ve thought of it. A man might become nervous and he might become apoplectic, but a man does not simply turn greedy.”

  “Unless he sees an opportunity for it,” Kenna replied. “But, what you say does make a certain amount of sense. I’ve been looking around and-”

  Rollo interrupted her with a clicking of his teeth and a wry grin. “Looking around?”

  She couldn’t help but giggle just a bit. “Well aye, I suppose I’ve been a bit sneaky. But between listening at the party last night, and overhearing he and the sheriff talking, I canna help but think he’s being lead on by these East India men. That doesn’t mean though, that I don’t think he’s got some kind of stake in all of this.”

  She stopped just short of revealing what Lachlan and Egan and Duggan had all three told her, about the villager’s fears that the mayor was amassing a fortune in taxes and a fortune in debts in order to enslave two villages’ worth of people to a plantation that he was just that moment building.

  “But you don’t think he’s faultless,” Rollo said. “That’s probably for the best. After all, why would you? Everything you’ve seen shows cruelty and greed and anger coming from the mayor. I can’t imagine how you feel after the strange encounter you’ve just had and not being allowed to leave. And I’m sure if you’ve spoken with the townspeople at all, you’ve heard terrible stories.”

  “It is a bit unnerving, aye.”

  Rollo stroked his face as though he had a beard, though he was shaved clean.

  “Just try to remember what I’ve said. I know well the virtues of caution. Just don’t judge him before you’re sure of all the facts. That’s all I ask.”

  “That I can do,” Kenna said with a smile. “That, I can certainly do.”

  Thirteen

  Mornay’s Cleft Inn

  August 18, Early Evening

  “I canna do it anymore, I’ve got to go and get her. My lover is out there, being held by some madman, and none of you are going to keep me here. Move!” Gavin, after a build-up that lasted for most of the day, finally had enough. He pushed through John, around Lynne, and the last person standing between the door of Duggan’s inn and Gavin, was Olga, who had her hands very firmly planted on her hips.

  “You will not be doing this fool thing, Mister Gavin.” She spread her feet out and leaned slightly forward.

  “Why are you stopping me? Aren’t you worried? What if she’s hurt, or...?”

  Olga just shook her head. “Mister Gavin, you aren’t being reasonable. Why would the mayor hurt her? He is well aware that other people know she is with him. And, like Duggan said,” she blushed briefly as she mentioned the innkeeper, “he’s not the type to hurt people just to hurt them. Unless he’s something to gain from it, she’s safe, at least for now.”

  “But you canna be sure, eh? I willna stand by while the person I love most in the world is alone and afraid.”

  “Gavin,” John stepped near his dear friend and squeezed his shoulder, “I know what you’re feeling right now. I know the fear and the uncertainty in your voice, but listen to me now. Will you do that? Can you? Say yes. Say you’ll listen to me.”

  Gavin’s face, twisted with rage or panic or something halfway between, relaxed for a moment and he took a long breath. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, I’m listening.”

  “Good. I’ve two questions for you. First of all, what is there to gain from you going out, acting like Saint George assailing a dragon, and being caught?”

  Before he could answer, Gavin was shushed.

  “Second question. Why are you so convinced of her helplessness? She-”

  “Broke me out of prison, yes, you dinna have to remind me again. But it wasn’t her alone. It was the lot of you working together.”

  “Together, aye,” John said slowly. “Working together. Not running off by yourself on a foolish errand. And as to the other? What’s the use of you going and getting yourself caught?”

  Gavin grumbled for a second, then turned to Rodrigo and asked what he thought. Rodrigo just shrugged and said that John had asked good questions.

  “Nothing good would come of it, I suppose,” he said grudgingly.

  “Good. He can see reason at least some of the time.” John let an impish grin creep across his face.

  A soft knock on the inn door went momentarily unnoticed as Gavin began to shift his weight back and forth. Already he seemed to be calming again, though there was still obvious anger and concern behind his eyes.

  The knock came again, loud enough that Olga heard.

  “What’s that?” She said. “Who’s there?”

  “A message,” came a slightly high-pitched voice from behind the door. “Message for one Gavin Macgregor.”

  Holding tight the haft of the dagger he fished from his boot, Gavin urged Olga aside and put his other hand on the handle of the door.

  “May I come in?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Gavin brushed his hair back, clenched his knife, and swung the door open. He shot his hand through the entrance, grabbed the shirt of whoever it was standing on the other side and yanked him through.

  “What’s the idea? Let me go!” A smart punch connected squarely with Gavin’s stomach and forced him to double over in surprise and drop his weapon.

  “Who are you?” Gavin said with short breaths as he tried to catch his wind. “What do you want?”

  “Hardly a hospitable welcome,” Rollo said as he straightened his coat and did an admirable job of keeping himself under control. “Especially for someone carrying word from the mayor.”

  “You what?” Gavin said, grabbing for the man again, but Rollo dodged him easily and slapped away his hand. “Give me whatever message you have. Is
Kenna in danger? Is she hurt?”

  “She’s in no danger. But again, I am only a messenger.”

  “You’ve seen her then? You know she’s safe? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

  “Gavin, give the man a chance to answer you. He’s done nothing wrong.” Lynne stepped forward and took from Rollo a neatly folded, square note on very fine stationery.

  “There’s no need. I’ll be going. Let me say this before I do – I understand your strain, sir. Truly I do. But trust me when I say that your love is well, and is in no danger. Please, read the message I’ve brought and consider what it says. Thank you all for your time.” Rollo bowed low and left.

  With trembling hands, Lynne handed the note to Gavin, who opened it and began to read: “Dear Mr. Macgregor. As the town’s mayor, I would like to formally invite you and yours to the small gathering of our twin villages held between the two harvests of the year. If you’ve not been informed, and if you will still be staying with us, tomorrow begins a two-day festival where we’ll have food, dancing, and most importantly, a series of contests celebrating our harvest. Please feel free to come enjoy the best we have to offer. In addition, I will be bringing a guest who I am certain you will be most excited to see.”

  “What else does it say?” John said as his friend wadded up the paper and threw it at the hearth, but missed just slightly.

  “Nothing. That’s it.”

  “Well there you have it,” Rodrigo said. “We were already planning to go anyway, remember.”

  “I know, but I’ve just had another thought.” One of Gavin’s sly smiles crept across his face. “We’ll be there, but I can’t help feel like this is a trap. Don’t ask me how, but I just know he has the sheriff with him.”

  “But,” John said. “If he has the sheriff, and he has Kenna, then one or the other of them is sure to reveal who we are.”

  “Aye, that would be true,” Gavin replied. “If we weren’t going in disguise.”

  Slowly, the mayor chewed a small mouthful of squash.

  “Why did you choose to involve yourself in my affairs, Miss Moore? Do I not have the right to do the same? And furthermore, what right is it of the little group you brought with you to meddle in the affairs of this town? Or of Duncraig? What business is it of yours what a Crown appointed mayor does?”

  Mayor Willard shifted slightly in his seat as his slate grey eyes slid up and down Kenna’s face, searching, as he waited for an answer. Without taking his gaze off her, he dragged his knife slowly through the brown, over-cooked pork roast. It made a most terrible screech. He lifted the meat to his mouth, parted his square teeth, and chewed.

  He swallowed.

  “You may answer whenever you like.”

  Between her legs, out of his view, Kenna clenched the tablecloth in her hand and twisted. She raised her other hand to the high-collared dress Rollo left for her. The bulge of the little glass pendant which held her thistle helped calm her nerves. Calmer nerves kept her from succumbing to anger.

  “Because I...because we, Gavin and I, we were coming through this nice little town, on our way home to Fort Mary.”

  “Oh, very nice place, that. Not much different from this one, if I recall.”

  “Aye,” Kenna said. “Not so different. And that’s part of it. Dinna like to see people hurting.”

  Willard grunted a laugh and said, “Hurting? Who is hurting? The only ones hurting in this town are those who have to serve this gaggle of Scots who expect to have everything handed to them, and not have to pay for it.”

  Kenna let go of the tablecloth and pinched herself on the leg to keep from opening her mouth too quickly. “I see,” she said with a low voice. “Councillor should know, though, that a number of his subjects think differently. And I dinna,” she hesitated, but decided to continue, “I dinna think all these people are truly lay-abouts without a shred of dignity.”

  Willard pursed his lips. Almost visibly, what she’d just said was rolling about in his mind.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share who these people are who have these terrible things to say about me then?”

  “Councillor, please. Those things were said in confidence. But looking about the town I found them true.”

  “Well at least do me the courtesy of telling me what it is that I’ve done so terribly wrong to these people. At the same time, I’d be remiss not to remind you that your presence in this village is less than a week old. How can you know who it is that you should be trusting in the first place?”

  Kenna opened her mouth and was almost immediately struck with how very right what he’d said was, then clapped it shut. But, no matter how flawless his logic was, she knew what she had seen and what she’d been told, not just by the men at the inn but also by Rollo – the mayor’s own assistant. His words, I’m worried about what he’s becoming, echoed in Kenna’s mind.

  “Are you a fish?” He smiled. Kenna closed her mouth for the third time, stopping herself from speaking, and immediately laughed, despite herself.

  Of all the things she’d thought, all the horrors she’d been told, and the evidence she herself had found and overheard of his ethically questionable collusion with the East India Company, when he made her laugh, and then himself had a chuckle, she was uncomfortably forced to remember his humanity. Sitting across from her, as strange and tall and uncomfortable looking as he was, Mayor Willard was, she had just remembered, a man. A man with a past and with pain and sadness and...scars.

  Her eyes fell to his hands, which were uncovered for the first time since she’d met him. She couldn’t look away, though she tried to turn her head.

  “It’s alright,” he said in a soft, almost caring voice. “I left the gloves off for a reason. I want us...I want to be more open with you than I have. You’ve a good head on your shoulders, and I think a continued relationship would behoove the both of us, Miss Moore.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, Councillor, but I don’t see how-”

  “Your lover, at present, is a thief. He committed crimes in an attempt to right wrongs. Does that not strike you as a bit misguided?”

  “Sir, the wrongs he and the rest of us righted did far more harm than we. A corrupt lawman who refused to prosecute his friends? A nobleman – A Laird of Scotland – who wanted to buy massive swathes of the country of his birth and then use them to leverage favor with the Crown? That’s the very sort of injustice that Robert Bruce and William Wallace fought against almost five hundred years past.”

  He grunted. “I expected more from you than vapid, ephemeral patriotism. Tell me, did you have these feelings before you met him? Or was it simply your lust that drove these ridiculous thoughts into your mind? Your desire to be desired?”

  The word ‘lust’ slid over Willard’s tongue with a hiss. He drew out the hissing sounds and punctuated it with a sharp end. Kenna almost stood up in offense.

  “Sir,” she said, “I canna believe you’d say such a thing.”

  Willard lifted his hands and turned them back and forth, fanning out his fingers so Kenna could see the ugliness. “I’m being open with you, am I not? All I ask is the same.” He threaded his fingers together and rested his hands atop the table. “It just seems a shame to have someone educated and knowledgeable and not try to use those resources. You are knowledgeable about a number of things, are you not? Such as about other people’s business?”

  “What do you mean, Councillor? I don’t have any particular knowledge you couldn’t get from asking most anyone about the town what their opinions are.”

  Leaning forward, he focused those unnervingly grey eyes directly into Kenna’s soul. “I want to see your little notebook.”

  She swallowed hard. Until then, she’d be very cavalier about the notes she took, never worrying about anyone paying attention. After all, what was it for a woman to while away the time by keeping a diary?

  “It’s just a journal,” she said, shifting her weight unconsciously in the chair. “I record silly things – m
y feelings, my thoughts on what people are wearing at parties – nothing at all of any importance. And anyway I didn’t bring it with me to our meal.”

  “Is that so? Rollo? Could you come here a moment?” He waited, and then when he heard Rollo approach, issued orders without turning around. “Would you go look through our guest’s room? She thinks that she might’ve left a notebook which she needs. It would be most helpful if you could find it. That’ll be all.”

  “Yes, sir, of course.” Rollo shot a glance to Kenna and winked ever so subtly as he turned to leave. “Oh, very foolish of me, but what does it look like?”

  “Kenna? Please tell him about the book’s appearance so he can find it.”

  “Right, aye, of course – it’s a brown notebook, bound in leather. Probably tied, with a pencil running along the spine.”

  “Inside it? The pencil is inside the spine?” The mayor narrowed his eyes as Rollo quietly left the room. “You shouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “The pencil with the book closed around it,” he said. “It could crack the spine.”

  A long moment passed in silence. Kenna rolled a tasteless piece of meat back and forth on her tongue, waiting for the mayor to offer some other observation, or pose some other uncomfortable question.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he said, surprising her. “I’m afraid I make people uncomfortable without meaning to do so. The occasions where I can sit and speak with a beautiful woman such as yourself are very limited. Especially one who knows me so well.”

  And there it was.

  “You – I’m not sure what you’re saying, Councillor.”

  He smiled one of those thin-lipped, awful smiles. “Don’t pretend ignorance. I know your tastes. If this were a castle, and you were a man, you’d be the master of spies, wouldn’t you? The way your eyes move around and drink in details and the way you are always thinking. There’s intelligence behind your eyes that cannot be hidden. Not from me, anyway. I recognize it because I share it with you. I have the same thirst for knowledge.”