by Karen Ranney
“You should be a little more careful about the way you spend money, Peter. My fortunes have not been reversed as yet. Why don’t you wait until after I’ve wed to be the profligate?”
He loved his brother, as well as his three sisters. They were, after all, the reason he’d come to Edinburgh and trolled through the recent crop of heiresses. Right at the moment, however, he would gladly toss Peter and all his siblings out the window.
They were spending entirely too much money. He’d just received a letter from his eldest sister demanding a new roof for their house. And new clothing for their youngest sister. She was always whining about the lack of funds.
“Perhaps you should consider a military career, after all.”
“Have you the wherewithal to purchase a commission?” Peter asked, brows arching.
“No, but I hear they need cannon fodder in fighting the rebels in America.”
Peter laughed, the sound grating on Harold’s nerves. “I doubt it’s come to that, brother. I’d find an heiress on my own, but my reputation has preceded me,” he said easily, falling into the chair beside the desk.
Harold frowned at him.
“Don’t worry, isn’t your little brown wren worth a fortune?”
“The way you and our siblings are spending money, soon that won’t be enough.”
“Isn’t there property in her family? That charming, pastoral prison where you stayed for a week? Surely that has to be worth something.”
“Only when her mother dies, and she looks to be in grand health.”
“Yes, but the hint of property is enough to allow you some additional credit. Things are not as dire as you think, dear brother.”
“I’ve already spent as much as I can on promises, Peter.” He pushed aside his papers and stood. “Pretend to be a little less vulgar in your tastes, will you, brother, at least until I get the chit to the altar.”
Rory reached Ayleshire when dusk was approaching, that time of day between light and dark that always seemed eerie and mysterious to him. At sea, the sun bid farewell over the horizon, streaks of orange and pink and blue warning of night’s approach. On land, the end of day was a quieter thing, but longer.
He’d much prefer being at sea, but since the MacRaes had decided to toss their lot in with farmers, he had no other choice but to join them. He didn’t think that he could sail with another captain or trust another man as he trusted the MacRae brothers.
James would be surprised at the news he brought. A baby had been born to Iseabal. A sweet little thing with her father’s eyes and her mother’s firm chin. He’d returned in time to witness the wedding at Fernleigh, too. Fergus looked as proud as any young man, for all that he was grizzled and gray. Leah Drummond, now MacRae, presided at his side, as happy as any woman he’d ever seen.
For years, he’d sailed with a first mate who’d seen omens around every corner. Daniel had chosen to return to Nova Scotia, but there were times Rory could swear, as now, that he heard the older man’s voice intoning one of his many superstitions. “They come in threes, my boy. Two sorrows and a joy, or two joys and a sorrow. Never three of the same.”
Rory gave a thought to Daniel now, wondering if he still found solace in his shipboard companion, a cat who was known to foretell calm seas or rough winds by the swish of its tail.
If it were true there was a sorrow to come, Rory hoped it was a small one. Despite their wealth and their lineage, the MacRaes had borne their share of hardship.
Recently, however, there was nothing but good news for the clan.
In his pack was a gift from Fergus and his new bride to Riona upon the occasion of her marriage. He also carried a letter from Alisdair to his brother, although he knew the contents of it well enough.
A goodly number of the Drummond clan had left Fernleigh, but they’d done so with no visible rancor. The only man who might have carried on a feud was many miles away. Thomas Drummond had been given over to the English, and had been impressed upon one of their ships. One of His Majesty’s sailors, reluctant as he might be. The attacker might be him or another Drummond, one of those who’d left for Inverness months earlier.
Alisdair, however, had taken the precaution of setting up a guard and watching for any strangers near Gilmuir. There would be no danger to the MacRaes as long as he was laird.
Rory smiled as he neared the village. Preparations for Lethson were well under way. He should be brushing up on his footwork in order to ask Abigail for a dance. A flush of anticipation surged through him. While it was true Rory had been kept longer than he wanted at Gilmuir, he’d made up for the delay in the swiftness of his return.
A few of the villagers waved at him, and although he didn’t know any of them, Rory waved back, caught up in the general excitement. Laughter seemed to perfume the air along with the scent of blooms and greenery.
Ribbons had been affixed to various signposts to mark the path of a foot race. Perhaps he’d participate when the time came, especially if the prize was worthwhile.
But the greatest addition to the village was the series of rope corrals filled with horses, erected toward the east. A horse fair—perhaps he’d come and see that, too.
Crossing the bridge, Rory anticipated the moment when he would see the crooked manor house. Darkness was almost fully upon him when he viewed Tyemorn Manor. He grinned, thinking that perhaps Abigail would greet him with some favor. After all, he was a messenger of some importance.
He dismounted in front of the barn and led his horse inside.
Ned was there, currying one of the plow horses.
“It’s about time you’ve returned,” he said gruffly. “A certain young lady has been asking every day if I’ve seen a sign of you.”
“Really?” Rory asked, pleased.
Suddenly there was commotion at the front of the barn. He heard a soft squeal and then Abigail came into sight, running so quickly that her feet were a blur beneath her. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the doorway, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Oh,” she said, as if she were surprised by his presence, “it’s you, Rory. I had no idea you’d returned so quickly.”
Rory grinned in response. “I’m back,” he said. And glad he was of it. “I wanted to make sure I was here for Lethson. I want that dance you promised me, Abigail. Or have you forgotten?”
She smiled at him, and he realized he would have traveled across Scotland to see one of Abigail’s smiles.
“No, I haven’t forgotten, Rory MacRae. And have you remembered how to work your feet?”
That question was a little too close to the mark. He might well have forgotten but for the fact that he’d been practicing the steps in his mind.
She giggled at his silence. “Never mind, a few minutes with me and you’ll remember it all again.”
She disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived. Ned cleared his throat and took the reins of his horse from him.
“Go and find James, lad,” he said kindly, “and I’ll take care of your horse.”
He entered the house by the kitchen door and headed for the stairs. Riona, who was reading in the parlor, looked up as his booted foot touched the first step.
She saw him and greeted him with a smile.
“Rory! You’re back. How was your journey?”
He turned and walked into the room. “Not a bit of trouble, miss. Not a squirrel out of place or a sparrow. Nor did I see any sign of Drummond.”
“And everyone is fine at Gilmuir?” She closed the book, using her finger to mark the place.
He had a letter for James entrusted to him by Alisdair, but he told her the contents of it now.
“James has a niece,” he said. “A plump little thing with a red face and a cry that can be heard throughout Gilmuir. They’ve named her Aislin Patricia MacRae.”
“Have Fergus and Leah married?” she asked.
“They have,” he said. “I was there when they recited their vows.”
“A happy day,” Riona said. “Fer
gus must be overjoyed.”
Rory nodded. “He looked the part,” he agreed. “I’ve brought greetings from all of them for James. Along with a dozen or so requests for his return from the women of the village,” he added, grinning. “Half of them imagine themselves in love with him. The other half swear he loves them as well. But that’s James. A conquest everywhere he walks.”
“Oh?” Riona said softly.
“He’s very well thought of by the ladies,” Rory said. He began slapping at the dust on his shoulders. “I need to wash the dirt of the road off me.”
“It’s so good to have you back,” she said, smiling.
He nodded, thinking that he had had other homecomings before, but this one seemed special somehow. As if this place nestled in its protective valley was truly home.
Tyemorn’s sole inn was a tidy little place with three rooms up the narrow stairs and a common area now crowded with men. For days Thomas had lain abed, struggling with fever, only the kindness of the tavern maid keeping him in water and clean cloths. He had given her most of his money to ensure her silence and her assistance, and now had only enough coins for another meal, or a tankard or two. He settled on the tankard, hoping that the whiskey would dull the worst of the pain.
MacRae had killed him.
There wasn’t any doubt of it. If he could have ignored the agony in his side, there was still the stench. The edges of the wound had grayed, red streaks now radiating outward from where he’d been knifed. The smell of death, sickly sweet and cloying, was with him always.
He could barely summon the strength to sit here. But before he expired of putrefaction, Thomas was determined that MacRae would die. The score wouldn’t be settled, but he was beyond finding justice for the Drummond clan now. All he wanted was to avenge his own death.
Pressing some clean cloths against the wound had diminished the smell somewhat, enough that he felt comfortable among the group of men in the tavern.
“So, you’re here for the fair, then?” one man asked him and he nodded into his whiskey, the effort of pretending to be a peddler beyond him at the moment.
“We used to be renowned for our horse fair,” he said, “but it’s not the sort of thing it used to be. Once upon a time the world traveled to Ayleshire for our horses.”
He continued to mull over the past, staring into his tankard. “Why, they came for days on end they did, so thick over the hills. Nothing but horses, lines and lines of the beauties.”
“Sounds impressive,” he managed to say.
“Aye, that it was,” the old man replied. “Nowadays, however, we spend more time with Lethson.” He wearily shook his head over his ale. “Pagan bit of nonsense, that’s what it is. An excuse for the girls to act like slatterns and the boys to revel in it.” He sighed heavily. “I’ve a daughter with a daughter, all because of Lethson. And a weak, puling husband she’s found for herself, too.”
“What’s this ceremony, this Lethson?”
The old man looked over at him with a sour expression. “A bit of tomfoolery. Bonfires and dancing, singing and gathering at the well. Foolish stuff, man, that you’d be better off ignoring. You should find yourself far from here before that night. The good folks of Ayleshire lose their minds and behave like idiots beneath the moon.”
Thomas motioned to the barmaid. He ordered another tankard and gave her his last coin.
“Even the manor folk are participating this year.”
“How, exactly?” Thomas asked, leaning both elbows on the table in front of him. Nausea rolled over him, and he could feel himself grow chilled, even as beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.
Just let me live long enough to kill him. A strange entreaty, but one fervently prayed.
Chapter 16
A ny moment now, the McDermott daughters were going to pinch each other and giggle. Riona frowned at them, but her expression made absolutely no difference to their silliness.
They acted as if they had never seen an attractive man before. James’s bruises had faded over the last week until only a tinge of yellow appeared on one cheek. Riona found herself wishing that he could have remained battered for a few more days, and then instantly felt ashamed of thinking such a horrible thought.
Mrs. Parker, meanwhile, was looking on fondly as if the two girls were precocious children instead of women old enough to have their own households.
Where was her censure? Her disapproval?
James, to his credit, appeared to pay them no heed, concentrating instead on his conversation with their father.
“I would appreciate it if you could assist me in this matter. I know it’s not a large vessel, but I had hoped to be able to use it for river traffic.”
“I would be more than happy to take a look at the design,” James was saying.
Mr. McDermott was always trying to increase his profits and had hit upon the idea of taking his produce to market using a water route. Their neighbor had proved invaluable this last year. He had loaned them his draft horse when one of theirs had gone lame, and some of his workers had come to help Ned from time to time. The relationship between the two farms went back several decades. The difference now being, of course, that Mr. McDermott was a widower. Riona suspected he looked at her mother with the vision of joining the two farms.
She doubted, quite frankly, that there would ever be an alliance of land or marriage between her mother and their neighbor. Mr. McDermott, kind as he might be, had a rather boisterous nature. His laugh was so loud that the china in the cabinet seemed to shiver whenever he was amused. Susanna treated him like a rather large puppy, kind yet firm.
Upon first meeting Mr. McDermott, Riona thought that his daughters’ characters must fade beneath his effusive nature. But instead of being shy, withdrawn women, both Rosalie and Caroline had distinct personalities.
Rosalie McDermott was one of those tiresome individuals who have an answer for everything. Despite the fact that she had no experience or any knowledge, she offered a comment on everything from animal husbandry, planting uncultivated furrows, and sluice drainage, to a score of other farming subjects. In addition, she professed superior awareness about Edinburgh despite the fact that the last time she’d visited the city was two years ago. She was, she said to anyone who would listen, familiar with the fashions, the balls, the dinner parties. In short, she had an opinion on anything.
Her sister, Caroline, was her opposite, but by no means a shadow of Rosalie. While her older sister espoused to know everything, Caroline pretended to know nothing, cultivating a vacuousness she perceived as charming. In addition, she batted her eyes at any available male in the vicinity. Even Old Ned was not sacrosanct. She patted her bodice from time to time as if her heart were beating too fast in her chest and sighed dramatically like an actress on the stage. Whenever anyone would ask her opinion, Caroline would sigh deeply and say, “I truly don’t know. What do you think?”
Now both of them were looking at James with greed in their eyes, as if they wanted to add him to their collection of suitors.
She, who had railed so fiercely against society’s rules, wanted to dictate a few of her own. James truly should not smile in the presence of other women. Not at the milkmaids or at Polly and certainly not at poor Abigail. Or at strangers, either. Women became silly in the presence of his charm. They lost their senses, evidently, choosing to giggle or stare wide-eyed at him.
Riona wished she could say something, anything to dissuade them from staring at him so, but she was constrained to silence by good manners and one thing more. He wasn’t hers. He never would be. The knowledge was like a blow to her midriff. He wasn’t hers. He never would be. Maybe if she repeated that to herself endlessly, she might be able to act with some decorum around him.
She concentrated on her plate, the silverware, the damask tablecloth. Anything but across the table at him.
A kiss did not bind them. Even though it was a kiss like no other. But, oh, it was so difficult to sit here and watch as other women admired h
im, knowing that she could never claim him as her own. She had no right to frown at Rosalie McDermott. Or change the subject, or chastise either of them for their simpering looks and small, coy smiles.
Had she acted as foolishly?
“Perhaps you might come and visit me tomorrow?” Gorman McDermott said.
“I would be pleased to,” James said, glancing at Susanna. Her smile was approval enough.
What task did he feel so honor-bound to perform for her mother? She’d agreed to refrain from asking, but she was still curious. Where had he learned his courtly manners? In Paris where someone, no doubt a woman, had taught him to dance?
Rosalie and Caroline were smiling and cooing at James, looking as if he were a sweetmeat and they starving urchins.
But who was she to remark upon their forwardness? She had been guilty of her own wanton behavior.
If anything, she should feel remorse that she’d allowed him to kiss her, feel some sort of regret that it had happened. Or guilt that she felt nothing of the sort and might possibly do it again if the opportunity presented itself. What type of woman was she, that she couldn’t cease thinking about it?
“You are very quiet this evening,” Mrs. Parker remarked in an aside to her. The older woman’s color was high, and she looked inordinately healthy. No doubt from being abed this past week. “Are you feeling ill? One can hardly tell with that brown color you’ve acquired. Buttermilk and lemon juice applied three times day, and especially at night, will help fade your skin. I doubt Mr. McDougal will find himself pleased to be married to a little brown berry.”
Riona smiled her assent. In actuality, she didn’t care what Harold thought of her complexion.
“You’re looking a little drab,” Mrs. Parker continued. “Some color would not be amiss. A pretty little bow in your hair, for example. Flowers like your sister is wearing.” Maureen’s hairstyle was interspersed with tiny daisies. But then, Maureen’s hair didn’t have to be tamed as hers did. If she wore daisies in her hair, Riona was certain that she would look ridiculous, rather than fetching.
