Duncan crossed the room and they shook hands. “It’s me.” He glanced at the door that Isobel ran through. “She’s pretty upset.”
“Aye, she’s been livin’ in a bit of a fantasy here, since her aunt died. Too much money going out and not enough comin’ in to pay for the upkeep.”
“So you and I agree on the condition of the building?”
“That I do. But ye will tread lightly, won’t ye?”
“I’ll do what I can, I promise you that.”
“Have ye thought of where they’d go once the deal is done?”
“A couple of suggestions. We would offer them property on which to build, of course, but in the meantime there’s a vacant crofter’s cottage outside of town on the Meade Road.”
Ferris nodded. “Aye, I know the place. Been empty for a few years, a family of rodents has probably taken up residence.”
“That can all be rectified,” Duncan replied.
“I can give ye a hand wi’ that, young Duncan. Isobel is a young woman who has always been close to me heart.”
Chapter Five
The following morning, Duncan prepared to ride to the castle but stopped at the wharf to see if there was any mail. As he approached a quaint tea shop, he noticed Isobel, a big man, and a young boy ahead of him. The man had his beefy arm around the boy’s shoulders and the boy leaned into him as they walked. Duncan, feeling like a voyeur, entered the shop a few moments behind them and pretended to study some imported hand-blown glass. Isobel was so engrossed in her company that she didn’t even look his way.
The man had the look of a fisherman. His face was ruddy and wind burned. He was big, brawny, with wild red hair and a big laugh. Curious, thought Duncan. The three looked like a family. She was a widow; what was her relationship to the big fisherman? And was the young lad hers? Isobel was enjoying the company of both of them, and Duncan noticed a glow in her face that he hadn’t seen since he’d arrived. For some odd reason, that bothered him. He left before they could notice him, but he was determined to find out for sure who her two companions were.
When he reached the castle, he found Fletcher in the stables with Evan and Kerry. They greeted him warmly, then each saddled a mount and were gone. Two large hounds followed them, loping easily beside the horses. A couple of collies paced in the yard, attempting to herd some chickens.
“Kerry has become a beautiful young woman,” Duncan noticed.
Fletcher eased Ahote’s saddle off and slung it over the railing. Duncan noticed the round silver concha that secured the saddle strings was shiny as a new coin. He also noticed that Ahote was getting gray around the muzzle. Fletcher took up a brush and began grooming his mount. “I agree.” He continued his labor of love, brushing his steed methodically.
“I don’t imagine there’s much chance of her marrying an islander,” Duncan mused.
Fletcher gave him a wry look. “Sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever marry. It would be a shame if she didn’t. But she’s been in Rosalyn’s loving clutches so long she refuses to even consider marriage until she’s fallen madly in love.”
“And where is she to find this perfect man?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Every eligible Scot on this island leaves as soon as he can. But even if one were here and wooed her, I…well, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but Kerry is so damned brilliant, I don’t think he’d have a chance. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but I can safely say she probably won’t find him here. And no amount of posing and posturing would interest her; in fact, she’d see right through any attempt at flattery.”
Duncan pondered that bit of news. He filed it away along with his other notations about the ranch in Texas.
“So, what have you discovered in the village?”
“The place is definitely a firetrap. She even brought in her own consultant who apparently agreed with my findings.”
“That must not have gone over well,” Fletcher mused.
“It certainly did not. Is there any reason to believe she can get by without selling?”
Fletcher shook his head. “I went over the history of the property with Geddes, and she has a loan out, plus she owes most of the merchants in town for one thing or another, trying to pay them by giving them produce they’ve grown. And with a new schoolmaster coming, she won’t be needed in that capacity.”
“Has she been told about this change?”
Fletcher frowned and stopped his chore. “I believe so. She and Reverend Fleming are in contact.”
Duncan rubbed his temples. “She’s a stubborn woman, I’ll give her that. Even after all that we offered, she’s still standing firm.”
Fletcher fixed his gaze on his brother. “Is there something else I should know?”
“No, no,” Duncan said hastily. “But I did check with Ferris the Peat, who was the person she went to for another opinion.”
“Ah, Ferris. Fine fellow.”
“Yes. He agrees with me and of course is concerned about everyone in the house. He’s aware of the accommodations we’ve offered. Even said he’d help spruce up the place. No one has lived in the cottage for a number of years, so there may be critters.”
Fletcher briefly stopped brushing. “Just who all lives in the old brothel now?”
“Well, the owner of the building, Isobel Dunbar, her business partner, Delilah something or other, who used to refuse me entry to the brothel all those years ago, Henry the handyman, which I believe is an overstatement, for if he were truly handy, the place wouldn’t be in the shape it is, and a young woman schoolteacher with a yappy little dog.”
Fletcher ran strong fingers through his hair. “As for the building, how can she want to stay there when we’ve practically offered her the moon?”
“Like I’ve said, she’s stubborn. She really can get her ire up.”
“Truthfully, I’ve never seen her at all. Is she elderly?”
“If she had been, maybe she’d have been easier to deal with. Actually, she’s a young, healthy, beautiful redhead who has decided you and I are devils. She won’t be easy to convince of anything.”
Fletcher studied his brother with interest. “Beautiful, you say? Can’t you do what you did best years ago? Flatter her, letting your charm ooze from your pores like honey?”
Oh, if he could tell Fletcher that he’d already done that—ten years before. “I’m afraid my days of charming are over.” The idea that she had a new beau still rattled him. But why shouldn’t she have someone? It wasn’t like they’d had any kind of relationship; he’d spent more tender moments with his horses.
Fletcher thumped him on the back. “Tough luck for both of us, I guess. But if the place is a firetrap, and she cares for the people who live with her, she’ll decide to sell.”
“There you two are.” Rosalyn stepped into the stable. Beneath her scarf her hair was that glorious shade of summer wheat, and even though she’d borne children, her figure was perfect. His brother was a lucky man.
She strode up to Fletcher, her arms folded across her chest. She didn’t look happy. “So you asked me about the old brothel because you want to tear it down?”
Fletcher looked a little guilty. “I was afraid you’d try to talk us out of it.”
“Well, of course I would,” she answered. “At least until the new schoolroom is ready. Why are you in such a hurry for this project of yours to get started?”
“Rosalyn,” Fletcher began, “the young men on this island are leaving in droves because there’s no work. The sooner I have a cannery open and running, the sooner some of them will stay, because there will be work.”
She frowned and looked away. “I just wish you’d wait until everything else has come together. She’s doing a good job. I may not know this firsthand exactly, but from what the reverend says, the young woman is educated and capable.”
“Rosalyn, the place is a firetrap. Duncan has gone over every inch of it and tells me it’s so. She may well be educated, but she is not a qualified schoolteacher, nor
is the young girl she has working with her. Sooner or later this was going to happen. And we have offered her accommodations.”
She looked a bit perturbed. “You could have told me. I still don’t understand why you’re in such a hurry.”
Duncan was curious. “Do you know the owner, Rosalyn?”
“I’ve been over there a few times with supplies and I’ve offered to help her on many occasions, but she’s determined to do everything on her own. I’m truly sorry she feels that way because I think we could be friends.”
“Do you know anything about her circumstances?”
“Does she have children?” Duncan probed. “I saw her in the village with a big red-haired man and a boy.”
Rosalyn shook her head. “I know she was widowed at a very young age, so I suppose the boy could be hers. She’s a very private person, keeps everything close to her chest. Since her aunt died, she’s become almost reclusive. I could ask the twins if they know anything about the boy, but I doubt it because if that is her son, he doesn’t go to school on the island. She must send him to the mainland.”
“With a school right here, why would someone go to that much trouble?” Duncan asked.
Rosalyn lifted one delicate shoulder. “I heard somewhere that she went to school off island as well. Perhaps that’s why.”
Fletcher went to her and put his arm around her waist. She leaned against him and they looked at each other, their gazes warm. “Do you forgive me for not including you in my plan for the building?” Fletcher touched his nose to hers.
“I can forgive you anything. But don’t keep me in the dark again, all right? We used to do everything together.” She kissed his chin.
Duncan cleared his throat. “Before you two ask me to leave you alone, I’d better get back to the task at hand.”
They were still arm in arm when Fletcher left them. Duncan was a bit jealous, but he was also profoundly happy that his brother had found peace and pleasure in his life, for he surely had not.
• • •
Louisiana—August 1864
They trudged along, the soles of their feet blistered from holes in their boots. To Duncan, each stone in the road was like a shard of glass, cutting his flesh, causing it to bleed. They were no longer interested in or able to march in unison.
Duncan cast his gaze on the spectators who had come to watch them shuffle through town. Three young women, all dressed in fine clothing and pretty hats, put their heads together as the soldiers passed and started to giggle. One even pinched her nose, implying that the lot of them stank.
Of course they did. They hadn’t bathed in weeks; they’d had no opportunity to do so. Their ragged uniforms not only smelled, but were also damp from the rain that had fallen unceasingly as they huddled in their trenches—no tents available. And no food to eat, for there was no way to make a fire.
Some of the men had eaten plants from a field, but shortly after they were throwing up on the road, their faces green under their dirty whiskers.
Yes, they were a stinky, damp, dirty, moldy, motley lot. So much for a fellow in uniform impressing the ladies.
• • •
Seated in the kitchen while Delilah prepared a special dinner for Ian and Hamish, Isobel’s heart was light. Her darling boy was home and her dear friend was staying for dinner. Ian’s cheeks were rosy and his skin was clear; he was such a handsome lad. He was honest and open and hung on Hamish’s every word. She noticed that his hair had changed a bit since he’d last been home; it was still kinky curly, but had some auburn highlights that hadn’t been there before. Did he look like his father? All those years while Ian was growing up she could still conjure up an image of that boy.
Yes, she thought, as she studied her son, there was definitely a likeness, but fortunately Ian had much lighter coloring and hair. She didn’t think the similarity would be evident to just anyone. She was grateful she had never resented Ian for the way he came into the world, but she could, however, resent the reckless boy for the way he planted the seed.
And dear, dear Hamish. She was using him, she knew, only because he had such closeness with Ian and the lad really did need a male figure in his life. Delilah said something and Hamish laughed his big, brash laugh, making everyone in the room laugh too, if only because the sound was so infectious.
Later, at Ian’s insistence, the three of them went down to the river and Ian and Hamish skipped stones on the water. Isobel turned her back on the water and stared at her house. The only place she’d ever lived except for her short life in school on the mainland. A lump formed in her throat and she fought tears. His Lordship was not only a threat to her personal existence; he was also a threat to everything she held dear. She wished he had never returned to turn her life upside down.
• • •
Determined to have his curiosity satisfied, Duncan returned to the brothel and found Delilah in the kitchen mixing up something that had the potential to taste delicious. He noticed the small bowls of currants and raisins.
She nodded toward the table. “Don’t be steppin’ on Yellow.”
Puzzled, Duncan looked around. “Yellow?”
“Aye, Yellow the Cat. She’s yellow and she’s a cat and she’s under the table. Don’t be steppin’ on her.”
Duncan glanced down and saw the big tabby curled up near Delilah’s feet. She opened one eye and looked at him, made a small, threatening sound in her throat, then went back to sleep. The damn place was full of females.
“Clootie dumpling,” he said, inhaling deeply. The sweet, tasty round bread made from suet and dried fruits had been one of his favorites. He couldn’t stop a chuckle as he recalled the awful army grub he’d been grateful to have, when it was available.
“What’s funny?” She sounded offended. He poured himself a cup of coffee and slid onto the bench at the table. “Just remembering how happy I was to eat bacon and biscuits three times a day when I was in the army—if I was lucky to eat at all.”
She gave him a curious look. “Ye be an army man?”
“Fifth Regiment out of Texas,” he answered.
“Do any fightin’?”
“Yes.”
She gave him a good once over but said nothing more.
“Tell me something, Delilah.”
“I could tell ye a lot of things.” She formed the dough into a ball.
Her Scottish burr still surprised him. “I saw Mrs. Dunbar in town this morning with a big, red-haired man and a little boy. Do they both belong to her?”
He noticed the snick of fear that came into her eyes. It was gone, immediately replaced by suspicion.
“’Tisn’t a secret. She has a son. His da, Rabbie Dunbar, died before the lad was born and she raised him all by herself. She’s a very fine mother.”
Her words came out sounding defensive. “I have no doubt about that, I was just curious. And I’m sorry about her husband. Who’s the big fellow?”
Delilah cleared her throat and covered the bread with a cloth. “That’d be Hamish the Boat. He fishes in the North Sea, comes home every few months.” She paused and added, “He’s her fiancé.”
Duncan sipped his coffee. “Hamish…the Boat?”
“Aye,” she answered, a frown of her own appearing on her forehead. “He be a fisherman. He has a boat. Hamish the Boat.”
Yellow the Cat and Hamish the Boat. These were little idiosyncrasies that he hadn’t thought about for ten years. “So she’s engaged.” An odd feeling of loss washed over him, surprising him so much he felt off balance. “Well, he seems like a fine fellow,” Duncan managed.
“Oh, he’s more than fine. He’s a dandy father figure for Ian.”
“Ian?”
“Ian be Isobel’s son. He adores Hamish. When Hamish comes home from the sea, they’re almost always together, those two.”
Duncan had other questions but thought he’d heard enough for the time being. More than enough, actually. He swore to himself. Was he jealous? No, not jealous of those involved, but perha
ps jealous of their situation. A family unit. Something that had never been possible for him. If he was a religious man, he might think he was being punished for his past behavior. He didn’t believe in a vengeful God, even though he’d had a few reasons to wonder if it was so.
• • •
Later that evening, as Isobel was taking inventory of her stock in the pantry, Duncan entered the kitchen and poured himself coffee, settling himself at the table. She knew he could see her from where he sat.
“I do remember you, you know.”
Isobel held her breath. She turned, giving him a tight smile. “Amazing that you could remember one young lassie out of so many.”
He seemed unaffected by her sarcasm. “You were the girl who wasn’t a red head. You said it was ginger. Isn’t that right?”
She was stunned that he would remember her at all, much less the comment about her hair. She lifted a nervous hand to the collar of her dress and attempted to hide her scar.
“So you’re still trying to cover up your mark of distinction. I would have thought you’d outgrown that, Izzy.”
She couldn’t hide her anger. “Don’t call me that.”
“Don’t call you Izzy? Why not?”
“It isn’t appropriate, you being a lord and all. I’d think you’d have a bit more propriety.”
He sighed and ran his finger around the rim of the coffee cup. “Propriety isn’t one of the things I’ve ever been good at.”
She shot him a quick look. “I’ll attest to that…My Lord.” Those two words would never come out of her mouth eagerly or with any amount of respect.
“I’m sorry about my past behavior. It was despicable.”
His candor surprised her. “Well,” she said, hoping to lighten the dreadful mood, “no harm done.” She turned toward her duties so he couldn’t see her face. She must not let him think his appearance in her life meant any more to her than it did to him.
“You have a son.”
Be careful. She took a deep breath as the image of Ian laughing with Hamish floated before her. “Yes,” she answered, continuing to fiddle with the cans stacked on the shelf. “He’s the light of my life, but then, what mother would say otherwise?”
The Scoundrel's Pleasure Page 6
