Just in Time for a Highlander

by Gwyn Cready

  It was the chapel on the Esk. But Jock had done what he’d promised. The thing retained its stout bell tower, but almost everything else had been rebuilt to look like a lodge. The doors swung open and Duncan inhaled sharply. Knowing Abby had to marry was one thing. Seeing her on Rosston’s arm would be another.

  Jock stepped out, a hearty smile on his face, then turned and held the door for someone else. That someone else was Sir Alan. And he was followed by a handful of Rosston’s men.

  Duncan’s knees nearly gave way.

  “This wasna the wedding?” he demanded of Nab.

  “Nae. Rosston has underwritten the canal. With his guarantee, that fop from the bank is willing to invest as well.”

  Abby’s clan had been saved. Duncan was glad for that, at least.

  “Then they are married?”

  “Who? Rosston and Lady Kerr? Oh, no.”

  “No?”

  “Not till two.” He squinted into the sun. “Oh. Which looks to be now, doesn’t it?”

  The wedding, Nab reported, was to be in the Lady chapel, and Duncan flew up the path to the castle with Grendel galloping beside him and Nab, shirttails flying, just behind.

  “I dinna understand your hurry,” Nab called between gasps. “I’d have thought watching her wed was the last thing ye’d want.”

  Duncan faltered for an instant. Why was he running? He couldn’t articulate the reason, but he knew he had to get to her.

  “I’m leaving you behind, lad,” Duncan said, bursting into a hard sprint. “I’ll catch you in the chapel.”

  Up the rise he went, and under the portcullis. He scanned the ramparts, ignoring the stares his attire was drawing, and saw clumps of people milling about the chapel’s entrance. Duncan had been to enough wedding ceremonies to know the crowd meant Abby’s had either just ended or was just about to start. He grabbed the arm of a maid hurrying past.

  “Is she married yet?” he said.

  “No. Nor will she be if the gardener willna give us the right flowers for her hair. ‘I canna wear gardenias,’ she cries. ‘The shoes aren’t right. I want the emerald earrings, not the rubies. Where is my dog? You can hardly expect me to marry without my dog.’ No, milady, I could never expect any bride to marry without her dog at her side. In fact, I believe there’s a trencher of meat scraps on every altar for just that purpose. God, give me strength.” The girl pelted away.

  “Is she upstairs?” he called.

  “Aye—though I canna recommend visiting.”

  Duncan raced into the castle and up the staircase. Grendel ran to his mistress’s door and waited for Duncan. Duncan paused to evaluate the impression he’d make in his current gladiator garb versus a clean sark and plaid. He opted for the latter and sped into her brother’s room, hoping no one else had moved in while he was away. No one had. He dropped Nab’s plaid on the floor and threw open the wardrobe doors.

  “I can see why Abby regrets your absence,” said Undine, who had appeared behind him.

  “I don’t know about that,” he said, too focused on Abby to be surprised or concerned, “but I can certainly see why she’s had locks installed on the doors.” He grabbed the nearest sark and slipped it over his head then reached for a plaid.

  “I don’t know what you’re doing here, Duncan—”

  “I convinced her to marry him,” he said, arranging the wool in as close an imitation of correct usage as time would permit. “I did just as you told me.”

  “Then why would you take the risk of coming back here to undo your good work?”

  “I just want to see her.”

  “To what end? Duncan, her happiness depends on a marriage to Rosston. You know that.”

  A winded Nab stumbled in. “Duncan, remember the whore I told you about? I just saw her walking right down—” He stopped when he saw Undine.

  “I see your friendship with Duncan has expanded your vocabulary, if nothing else,” she said coolly.

  “I came for my plaid,” Nab said, uncomfortable.

  “What whore have you seen?” Undine said.

  The boy looked to Duncan for a sign. Duncan shrugged. A whore on the grounds of Kerr Castle was hardly going to shock Undine, not unless the lass was scaling the ramparts like Spider-Man or something. Even then he wasn’t so sure.

  “The whore I told him about,” Nab said, intentionally obscure, adding to Duncan, “behind the tavern in town? Giving dancing lessons?”

  “Oh. Oh. Here?”

  “Right in the hallway.”

  Duncan walked around a dubious Undine and peeked down the hall. The only person there was Molly, Lachlan’s nurse. She was playing a game of tug of war with Grendel with a towel, ringlets of hair escaping from her bonnet. “Her?”

  The look on Nab’s face gave him the answer. Duncan frowned. Molly? Hopping with Jock behind a tavern in town? Molly, Lachlan’s favorite? The lass Jock feared would carry the son who could displace Abby as chief?

  He froze.

  Undine, seeing the expression on his face, pushed him gently out of the way to have a look for herself.

  She narrowed her eyes. “What is it, Duncan?”

  “Who hired Molly?” he demanded.

  “The same person who hires everyone around here: Jock.”

  Duncan closed the door and looked at Undine. “I think Molly’s not the only one around here who’s been had.”

  It didn’t take Duncan long to find the second set of books. Not once he knew what he should be looking for. The book’s spine read England’s Greatest War Heroes. Jock hadn’t even bothered to lock the thing up. No one in Castle Kerr would ever pull that book from the shelf. Duncan needed only scan the first pages to see the way the estate’s profits had been systematically skimmed. He was in the middle of trying to figure out where the money might have gone when Jock opened the door.

  He saw Duncan at his desk and reached for his knife.

  “Easy, aye?” Duncan said. “Others know. Killing me willna do you any good.”

  “Might make me feel better.”

  “Where’s the money?”

  “Ha. Ye’ll never see it again, lad.”

  “That, my friend, remains to be seen. Do you suppose Molly has any thoughts on the matter?”

  Hatred flared in Jock’s eyes.

  “The only trouble with partnering with a prostitute,” Duncan went on, “is that they’re not too particular about whom they bed. You told me she was bedding Lord Kerr. But your plan was to get her pregnant yourself and say it was his, putting your own child in power, was it not? And when old Kerr insisted on Rosston as regent for the lad, you would have become Rosston’s closest adviser. I wonder how long Rosston would have lived with an adviser as skilled as you?”

  Jock didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

  Duncan said, “Well, you’ll be surprised to discover, I think, that Molly is one step ahead of you. I’m fairly certain she’s decided to cut out the middle man and just snag a child from his lordship directly. Why share the influence with you when she can give her child the blood of a true nobleman and save herself the trouble? But you’ll have to take that up with her. Let us hope for her sake she’s achieved her objective already, for her days at Castle Kerr are over.” Duncan leaned back in the chair and sighed. “I wasn’t sure who shot the arrow at me, but now that I see you have a lovely view of the bailey from here, I think I have my answer. I’d stay, but I must let Lady Kerr know she’ll be in need of a new nurse and a new steward.”

  A sheen of perspiration appeared on Jock’s forehead.

  “There is one thing I want to know,” Duncan said. “And I’m willing to consider advising Abby to let you go in exchange for the answer.”

  “I told you you’ll never find the money.”

  “It’s not about the money.”

  Jock’s eyes narrowed for an instant the
n he laughed a booming laugh. “You are in love with her, aren’t you? No, I dinna think I will tell ye if Rosston was a part of this. You’ll have to take it up with him.”

  Duncan’s heart fell, and he felt the guilt of his disappointment. If Jock had confirmed Rosston’s involvement, it would have ended any chance the man had for a life with Abby.

  Jock said, “I will tell you this, though. Rosston would have needed to partner with someone to pull off a plan like this. He’s not canny enough to do it alone.”

  “Apparently, neither are you.” Duncan stood. “Now I should very much like for you to make yourself comfortable while I lock you in here. I found these in your desk”—he jingled a small ring of keys—“and I’m assuming they’ll do the trick.” He rose from the desk and faced Jock.

  The man swallowed. The blade in his hand caught the afternoon sun. “I can still get away. You’re the only thing between me and an escape.”

  “Not the only thing.”

  The sound of a click made Jock turn. Nab stood in the hallway aiming a pistol.

  “Hurry, Duncan,” the boy said, arm quaking.

  Jock scoffed. “Does he even know how to use the thing?”

  “Well enough—at least I hope. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind angling a bit to the left? The thing’s cocked, and I’d prefer not finding out if the ball can travel through your heart to mine—Oh God, Nab!”

  Jock leaped out of the way, which gave Duncan the opportunity he needed to grab the man’s wrist and jerk the knife to the floor.

  “Jesus,” Duncan said gleefully, “you fell for that?” He kicked the knife toward a grinning Nab and kneed Jock in the stones for good measure. “Rule number one: never turn your back on a pissed off Scot.”

  Duncan locked the door and ran to the hallway window. The chapel-goers were moving inside. He grabbed Nab. “Make sure Undine is able to stop the wedding. I’m going to Abby’s room.”

  He raced down the hall, but his steps slowed before he reached her door. He knew Jock had drained the estate, but Duncan had no evidence Rosston was involved. Would Abby stop the wedding on a suspicion? And to what end? Rosston’s gold would save her. And it wasn’t as if Duncan had found the money Jock had hidden. Yes, he could stop the wedding, but if he did, he would destroy Clan Kerr in the process.

  The disappointment was too much. To have come back and come so close to saving her, only to have her still joined forever to Rosston.

  He stared at the door. Would seeing her change anything? Was there enough magic in the world to save two despairing lovers? Even if the answer was no, he knew he had to see her one last time.

  He knocked. “Abby,” he whispered.

  Was she already lost to him?

  The door opened, and Duncan’s heart broke. Rosston, brushed and polished, gave Duncan a whiskey-fueled smile. “Not here, lad,” he said, waving the goblet in his hand. “Not yet, at least.” He opened the door and waved Duncan in. The room was filled with flowers, including several fat bowls of twinflowers. The bed—their bed—was dressed in gleaming white sheets covered in rose petals, and the airiest of chemises lay across the chaise before the hearth. The wardrobe was gone, replaced by a painting of Scots fighting the English.

  “The Battle of Dunkeld,” Rosston said.

  The battle in which Rosston reigned victorious.

  Darkness burned in Duncan’s belly. “Ye canna marry her. And if ye played a part in the destruction of her estate, I’ll kill ye.”

  Rosston put down his drink and balled his fists. “’Tis time for this to end.”

  Fifty-one

  The footmen found her on the roof, desperate for someone to tell them what to do about the battle being waged in her locked room. Nothing calmed her like launching arrows as far into the empty hills as her strength would allow, but she flung the bow over her shoulder and stuffed her bleeding fingers into the pockets of her gown.

  “Who is it?” she asked as they ran down the tower stairs, but her heart had already begun to cling to the possibility.

  “We don’t know. We assume one is Lord Kerr. No one inside would answer.”

  The door was still closed when they arrived though nothing raged beyond it. The room was deadly silent.

  “’Twas ten minutes, easy, they were going at it,” said one of the footman. “We looked for you everywhere.”

  “Open the door,” she called.

  She heard a groan inside and nothing more.

  “Watch out.” She took a step back and nocked an arrow. With a powerful thwang, the lock exploded in a hail of metal and wood. Abby turned the knob. The room lay in shambles. The settee was in pieces, every table had been overturned, and Rosston’s painting had been flung into a corner. Rosston lay on the bed, hand over his eyes, blood everywhere. Duncan’s unmoving legs were visible on the floor beyond the bed.

  “What have you done to him?” she shrieked.

  Rosston groaned. “I’m bleeding too, ye ken.”

  “Sorry, mate.” Duncan crawled into view, nostrils bleeding, two large gashes in his cheek. She’d never been so happy—and so irritated—to see anyone.

  “That’s all,” she said pointedly to the footmen, who gazed at the scene openmouthed. They shuffled out, and she closed the door behind them.

  “We were having a discussion,” Duncan said, running a finger over his bloody teeth.

  “I see that.”

  “About Jock.” He climbed unsteadily to one knee.

  “Jock?”

  “He’s been robbing you.” Rosston turned gingerly onto his side. “Duncan found a second set of accounts.”

  Abby’s eyes stung. There were few lashes crueler than those of betrayal. “Oh.”

  “He’s locked in the estate office,” Duncan said, “awaiting your disposition.”

  Rosston said, “The whereabouts of the money, however, are not quite as clear.” He offered a hand to Duncan, who took it and stood, wobbly legged, and immediately sunk onto the bed.

  “You have not mismanaged the estate, Abby.” Duncan rubbed his temples. “However, you are still bankrupt.”

  “And I could save you,” Rosston said. “But I rather think I won’t. Duncan has informed me in some detail of the relationship you share—”

  “Oh, Duncan.”

  “Dinna fear,” Rosston said. “He paid dearly for the pleasure. I believe one of his teeth is on the floor near the hearth. Possibly two. But he also told me he loves you as he has loved no other. Abby, I am wise enough to see marrying me would bring you little pleasure and vain enough to wish to protect myself from such a blow. I hope you dinna mind, but when I inform the priest the marriage is off, the story will be you lied to me to save your clan, since that story is, in fact, the truth.”

  “I think that’s your right, Rosston. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

  “I’m not a bad man,” he said. “Just a man unloved by you. ’Tis possible that in a few weeks’ time my heart will soften enough that I will see my way clear to giving you the money you need. But if I do, you will have to merge your clan with mine. On that point, I willna negotiate.”

  “I understand,” Abby said, and she did. Fully. “I would do no less myself. I hope it does not come to that, but I will accept it if it does.”

  Rosston chuckled and stood, which immediately changed the chuckling to a hiss. “You are your father’s daughter. That much is certain.” He tried rearranging his sark to hide the bloodier parts but gave up the attempt. “I know you will marry him, Abby, but it would spare me some pain if you did not do it today. I have no right to ask for such a consideration, but—”

  “We willna marry today,” Duncan said. “I give you my word.” He held out his hand.

  Rosston wiped his palm on his shirt and took the extended hand. Abby decided she would never understand the ways of men.

  A faint knock sounded,
followed by a hesitant “Abby?”

  It was Serafina, and Abby realized that it was well past the time for the ceremony. “Come in.”

  Serafina slipped in and was immediately dumbstruck by the chaos. “What happened?”

  “A peace treaty,” Abby said. “I lied to Rosston, and he has rightfully withdrawn his offer of marriage.”

  Serafina’s eyes went straight to Duncan. He gave her an unsteady smile.

  “And the canal?” Serafina asked.

  “In limbo,” Abby said. “My clan no longer has the financial backing of the Kerr sept, and Sir Alan has made it clear my reputation for indiscretion has made me an unreliable risk on my own.”

  “I wish I had the money to lend you,” Serafina said sadly.

  “Thank you. I wish you did too. And now, if you’ll all excuse me, I believe I will pass the word to the priest and Sir Alan and his wife and the other guests that—”

  Serafina’s cheeks turned the color one only sees on redheads—nearly as bright and almost the same shade as Duncan’s after his emotions had been stirred but before his voice rose to match them. “Sir Alan is married?”

  Rosston frowned. “Aye.”

  The men as usual were miles behind, but Abby recognized in Serafina’s question a nascent fury that could only come from one thing.

  “He tried to bed me!”

  “The upright Sir Alan?” Duncan blinked. “I remember him talking to you after the dinner.”

  “Oh, he found me entrancing. And I admit I rather enjoyed being seen that way, even if it was just for a time. But I had no intention of taking him to my bed. My God, the man is fifty if he’s a day! He knocked on my door after everyone was asleep. I thought perhaps he lost his way to the privy. But when he made his intentions known, it took some verra stern words to force his retreat. ‘Indiscretion’? Ha! The man should be horsewhipped.” She added sotto voce, “I sometimes wonder if all men shouldn’t be. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Abby gave her battered companions a dry look. “I’m not so sure the exclusion is warranted. I’m sorry, Serafina. I have reasons to want to see Sir Alan horsewhipped myself. I wish someone had overheard him. How utterly delightful it would be to share such an account with his wife.”