Hugh digested his aunt’s explanation in silence, grudgingly admitting her actions had merit. “And what makes you think Dunhelm has his eye to Loch Haven?” he asked, wondering if he would need to call upon Iain himself, and let it be known that he was returned and would protect what was his.
A crafty look stole into Aunt Egidia’s eyes. “He’s already acquired half the land between Ben Denham and Castle Loch Haven,” she said, watching Hugh for any reaction. “ ’twas also rumored he pressed for the seizing of all MacColme land, not just the properties owned directly by your father, and when the land was put to auction ’Tis said he bid upon it. Alas, he did not bid high enough,” she added with a smirk, “and it went to some outeral from Yorkshire.”
Hugh opened his mouth in reply, but whatever he might have said was lost when the door to the drawing room was flung open and a woman in an elegant yellow gown, a cape of bright scarlet wool laying crookedly on her shoulders, stood in the doorway. Emerald-green eyes, lavishly trimmed with thick black lashes were wide in a face that was alarmingly pale, and her lips trembled as she took a tentative step forward.
“Hugh?” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Hugh, is it truly you?”
Hugh gazed at the stunning creature his sister had become, love and anguish making his eyes burn and his throat ache. She was the very image of the mother he mourned still, and seeing her grown was a painful reminder of all the lost years in between. “Mo piuthar, mo cridhe,” he said, repeating the endearments he had whispered to her in farewell a lifetime ago. “I have missed you, little sister.”
“Hugh!” And then she was in his arms as she had been all those years ago, her arms tight about his neck as she held him close. “You’re home, you’re home,” she whispered, and he could feel her tears warm upon his skin. “I knew you would come back! I knew it.”
Hugh couldn’t speak, his heart too full for words as he pressed a kiss to the top of Mairi’s head. This was the moment he had longed for, the moment he had lived for through all the years of danger and death. In his sister’s arms he was finally home, and the enormity of his joy overwhelmed him.
Behind him he heard the sound of the door closing, and knew Aunt Egidia had withdrawn to grant them privacy. He savored the feel of his sister a moment longer before gently moving away.
“Let me have a look at you,” he said with a half-laugh, drawing back to feast his eyes upon her. “Aye,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “I was right, wasn’t I, to say you would be a beauty? You’re lovely as an angel, Mairi MacColme, although ’Tis more the devil I hear you resemble, with your temper and your tongue.”
“Oh, fasch with you!” she exclaimed, dashing the tears from her eyes with an impatient hand. “I’m a MacColme, aren’t I, and the temper is mine to have. And if the Lord saw fit to grant me a tongue and the wit to use it, I refuse to be ashamed!”
Her vehemence and the sparkle in her eyes had Hugh throwing back his head in laughter. “Ah, Mairi, you’ve been too long in Aunt Egidia’s company,” he said, smiling. “But tell me of Keir Mackinney; I hear he is courting you. Do you love him?”
Mairi tossed back her head with pride. “Keir Mackinney is a troublesome brat with dirty hands and nae a thought in his head!” she said decisively. “And the last time he called, I told him did he but attempt to pinch me again, I would stick my dirk in his fat belly.”
Hugh’s smile faded. “He dared to place his hands upon you?” he asked, a deadly note creeping into his deep voice.
“Aye, but it’s dealt with and done, so there’s no cause for you to go off and murder him as you’re thinking,” she said. “Now, let me have a look at you,” she added quickly, before he could gainsay her, “so I can see for myself the man you have become.”
He stood silent under the intense perusal of those deep-emerald eyes, feeling the gentle touch of her gaze as it moved over the planes and hollows of his face. The last fourteen years had been hard ones. He was a man now, with a man’s experiences stamped deep into his tanned flesh, and he only hoped she would not find his appearance too changed.
“And what is this?” Mairi’s hand trembled as she traced a finger down the thin white scar slashed across Hugh’s left cheek. “A dueling scar, is it? Or was it done from an enemy’s sword in the heat of battle?”
In truth, it was the scar left by the riding crop belonging to a pretty-faced lieutenant he had angered by not moving fast enough, but there was no way he’d be telling his sister that. Just as there was no way he would ever tell her of the horrendous scars marring his back.
“Only officers are allowed to duel, little sister,” he said, dancing neatly around an explanation. “The rest of us are left to settle our differences with knives and our fists.”
“Brawling like a gypsy. I might have known,” she scolded, shaking her head at him in disaproval. Then her expression abruptly grew pensive as she took his hand. “Tell me how long you’ve been in Scotland, and whether you’ve been to the castle as yet. I’ve news to tell you, and it’s nae pleasant to hear.”
“I know about Father and Andrew,” Hugh replied, guiding her to the settee. “But I would you will tell me what you know, and what’s been done about it.”
Mairi wasted little time, giving him the facts he requested in an orderly fashion. She told him of the soldiers riding into the castle, and of his father’s reaction to the very suggestion he sign an oath to him he still regarded as a foreign king. Force had been used upon others, Mairi told him, but his father and brother had been treated with what she recognized as a surprising degree of respect.
“ ’Tis odd, I know, but the captain did all that he could to make the matter easier for Father to swallow,” Mairi confided, head tilted to one side as she recalled the events related to her by a sharp-eyed servant. “Out of his men’s hearing he told Father the oath was naught but a piece of paper, and that Father could tear it to pieces the moment they were gone, and he wouldna care a wit. He all but pleaded with Father to sign, they say, but he wouldna do it, and when he drew his sword upon the captain the soldiers had no choice but to take him.”
Hugh silently cursed his father’s stubborn pride. “And Andrew and our uncle?” he asked, determined to understand all. “Did they draw upon the soldiers as well?”
“Andrew did,” Mairi said, shaking her head at her brother’s folly. “A hothead he has been since you went away, and he was more fiercely determined than Father that not another MacColme would swear an oath to the English king.” She shot him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Hugh, but that is what he said.”
Hugh waved her apology aside, having long ago accepted his actions had set him apart from his family. “What did he do?” he asked instead, turning his mind away from his painful memories.
“While Father was arguing with the captain he rallied the men of the castle, and they confronted the soldiers in the main keep. Words were exchanged, and from the telling of it ’twas Andrew who fired the first shot. The soldiers were about to return fire, but the captain ordered them to stand and hold their positions. Then he ordered the others to surrender or be shot. They surrendered,” she added.
Hugh gave a distracted nod, envisioning the scene Mairi had described only all too clearly. He himself had been in much the same situation, when he and his squad of irregulars had stormed a barn where a group of American rebels had taken refuge. Those men had also opened fire upon them, and been shot dead for their pains. That this unknown captain had spared his brother and uncle was an act of rare kindness, and one he knew he would have to repay if he hoped to count himself an honorable man.
“This captain, do you know his name?”
“Captain Alexander Dupres of the Sixty-ninth,” Mairi said, eyeing him with interest. “Do you know of him?”
Hugh thought of the man with coal-black hair and eyes the color of a tropical sea who had been his commanding officer in Canada. “Aye,” he said softly, “I know him.”
Mairi gave a wi
se nod. “I thought perhaps you might, although he didna speak of it. When Muireach told us what had happened, Aunt Egidia said it was a blessing you had gone into the fusiliers as you had done, else we would doubtlessly have lost all. They didna even burn the castle, although ’Tis my understanding that is the usual way of it.”
“It is,” Hugh said in an absentminded tone, lost in memories of another time and place. “It’s done to punish the enemy, and to make certain the castle will never be used against you again.”
“Well, it wasna burned,” Mairi said accepting his explanation, “although the blecks did sell it away from us, and the land and cattle with it. You’ll be after getting it back, won’t you?” she added, studying him anxiously. “That is why you’ve come back?”
He reached out and tugged a strand of bright-red hair that had escaped her elaborate coiffure. “I’m after getting it back,” he agreed. “I’m bound for Bath when I leave here, and from there I’m to London.”
“Bath?” Mairi gave him an astonished look. “Why would you want to be going there? It’s full of naught but rich old English lords who enjoy fancying themselves ill.”
Although it was not in his nature to explain, Hugh decided to grant her the courtesy of an answer. She was his sister, after all, and like him, amongst the last of the line MacColme. “I’m going to see General George Burroughs, the duke of Hawkeshill,” he said, his voice grimly determined.
“I’ve heard he has retired there, and I mean to request his aid in getting back all that was taken from us.”
Mairi digested this information in silence for a long moment. “And why would an English general, and a duke at that, be aiding you?” she asked curiously.
A hard smile touched Hugh’s lips. “You might say he owes me something,” he told her wryly.
“What?”
“His life.”
Chapter 2
London
“Marry Sir Gervase? Are you mad? I would sooner wed with a pig!” Lady Caroline Burroughs declared, her deep-blue eyes spitting with fury as she glared into the dissipated face of her uncle. “I won’t do it, do you hear me? And there is no way you can make me!”
Lord Charles Burroughs, earl of Westhall, arched a thin eyebrow at the dramatic pronouncement. “Can I not?” he drawled, his lips lifting in an amused smile. “I should not be so certain of that fact were I you, my dear. And I should have a care what you say about Sir Gervase. Wilmount is one of my dearest friends, and I will not tolerate his being insulted.”
Caroline’s delicate hands curled into small fists as she choked back a furious retort. Sir Gervase was indeed a “dearest friend” to her uncle: the two of them were as painted and powdered as a pair of aging actresses strutting the boards at Drury Lane, and their manners were almost as coarse. The thought of being shackled for life to such a creature was enough to make her ill, and she knew she would do whatever was required to avoid such a fate.
“Sir Gervase may well be your dear friend,” she began, returning to her chair, “but that doesn’t mean he would make me an ideal husband. I am but one and twenty, and the baronet is well into his forties. He is too old for me.”
Her uncle did not answer at first, seeming far more interested in the taking of his snuff than in his niece’s matrimonial concerns, but his indifference in no way fooled Caroline. She had long since learned to distrust such performances, knowing the more indolent he appeared, the more mischief he was planning.
“An older husband has been the making of many a young bride,” he observed, after first delicately sneezing into the lace handkerchief he had produced from the sleeve of his satin coat. “And at your advanced age, I should think you would be grateful to receive an offer at all. You’ve had four seasons to make a match on your own, and you’ve yet to bring a man to the sticking point.” He sent her a poisonous smile. “Your reputation precedes you, my dear, and it would seem that not even the sweetness of your fortune is enough to entice a man to wed and bed so renowned a shrew.”
Caroline flushed angrily at the spiteful words. She knew her uncle was well aware she’d received offers aplenty in the four years since making her curtsies, just as he was aware she had rejected each and every one of those offers. She had little use for the brainless puppies clinging to her skirts and professing undying love, and even less use for the calculating fortune hunters who pursued her, their eyes fixed on her heavily laden purse. Neither group could see past her blonde curls and blue eyes to the woman inside, which made rejecting their offers of marriage easy. She had the example of her parents’ marriage to draw upon, and like them, she was determined to marry only for love.
“As I was saying, I consider this to be an ideal match, and I have quite set my mind upon it,” the earl continued, as usual turning a deaf ear to Caroline’s objections. “A summer wedding would be best. Wilmount and I are quite anxious that he not miss any more of the season than is necessary.”
The drawling comment had Caroline fighting to keep down the panic rising in her breast. Uncle Charles spoke as if the marriage was already a fait accompli, and she knew that boded ill for her. If he had already accepted Sir Gervase’s offer, she would have to act before the banns were posted, else she could well find herself shackled to the fat, wretched monster her uncle had selected for her. Schooling her face to reflect none of her fear, she raised her eyes to meet his gaze.
“I will not marry him, Uncle Charles,” she said, her tone quietly determined. “You may have control over my fortune, but that does not give you control over my person. The days a woman can be forced into an unwanted marriage are long since past, and I will not be wed to a man I abhor.”
Her uncle took another delicate sniff of snuff. “Again I must caution you against insulting the baronet,” he warned in a chilling voice. “And as for my not having control over your person, I fear you are sadly mistaken. I do have such control, and if you do not do as I see fit, I will not hesitate to exercise it.”
Caroline stiffened warily. “And what is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“Merely that your behavior, my dear Caroline, has become most alarming in these past weeks,” he drawled, his pale-blue eyes gleaming with malice. “And really, it is quite worrying. You are grown headstrong and willful, and I fear for your sanity.”
Despite her air of bravado, Caroline’s stomach took a sickening plunge. Last year her dear friend, Olivia Crenshaw, had been locked up as mad by her beast of a husband, and had it not been for the determined efforts of her brother, she might be languishing there still. After winning her release her brother had gone on to kill her husband in a duel, but the damage had already been done. The warm, laughing girl Caroline remembered had been replaced by a hollow-eyed, quiet woman who seldom smiled and never laughed.
“You would not dare,” she said, although her voice trembled with a mixture of fear and anger.
The smile he gave her was the stuff of nightmares. “Would I not?” he mocked. “But what else am I to do, dearest niece? You are acting irrationally, and your sudden preoccupation with your fortune, besides being decidedly declassé, is an indication of how unstable you have become. Why else should you have accused your loving uncle, who has always shown you every kindness, of stealing from you?”
So that was it! Some of Caroline’s terror retreated as understanding dawned. Her uncle had somehow learned of her inquiries into his handling of her inheritance, and meant to threaten her into silence.
“I do not recall accusing you of theft,” she informed him, retreating behind a wall of cool indifference. “I but made a few discreet inquiries, and if you are not taking my money illegally, you need have nothing to fear.”
The smirk on his lips disappeared. “I fear nothing!” he snapped, his satin pantaloons rustling as he rose to his feet. “Just take care you remember what I have said. You might think yourself a woman grown, but you are still my ward and under the law I have full charge over you. Provoke me again, and you will learn to your cost precisely what that
means.”
The door had scarcely closed behind him before Caroline rang for her maid. If Uncle was going to post the banns she had to act fast, and clearly the first order of business was to call upon her solicitor. He’d been of great assistance in the past, and she was confident he would be now. Less than an hour later she was sitting in his office on Harley Street, listening in horror as he destroyed her last vestige of hope.
“I am sorry, my lady, but I fear your uncle has the right of it.” Mr. Garrett’s voice was filled with regret as he regarded Caroline over the rim of his spectacles. “As your guardian he does have legal charge over you, and that does, unfortunately, grant him power to have you committed for your own protection.”
“But it’s not for my protection, it is so he can help himself to the rest of my money!” she raged, furious at his apparent acquiescence. “There must be something you can do to stop him!”
“Again, my lady, I fear the law can offer you little protection,” Mr. Garrett said, shaking his head firmly. “It is appalling to be sure, but so long as your uncle remains your legal guardian, he exercises full control over you. Naturally if he attempts to have you committed I can petition the courts for cause, but it could take some time to have the case heard.”
He droned on, pointing out her uncle’s power and what they might do to circumvent him, and with each word Caroline grew increasingly desperate. She kept remembering Olivia’s wan appearance after being rescued, how ill she had been, and the way she’d started at the smallest sound. She would not let that happen to her, she vowed, refusing to give in to the panic clawing at her. She would not.
“… your grandfather,” Mr. Garrett concluded, looking thoughtful. “Your uncle would still remain your guardian, of course, but if His Grace lets his displeasure be known, Lord Westhall is certain to abide by his wishes.”
Rose In Scotland Page 3
