by Jackie Ivie
Hadn’t heard him? His voice was loud enough to shake the rafters of the chieftain room.
“Ains! Lee!”
His voice broke her name in two sections when she heard it next, and that through a panel she passed. The passage she turned down wasn’t often used. It was dusty and contained more than a few cobwebs, but eventually she slid out from behind a bookshelf, shook her hair, and then her skirts, and hoped she looked like she’d been thoroughly engrossed in a book.
She’d just started down a ladder when she was spotted.
“I’ve found her, Father!”
It was her second-born, half-brother, William. He was fourteen and already developing brutish tendencies. She had to attend to just about every horse after he’d ridden it. The spot between Ainslee’s shoulders tensed. William wasn’t trust-worthy. But she was in luck. Their next younger brother, Ronald, was at his heels. Even at just ten years of age, Ronald was like an angel. Everyone adored him.
“There you are, you lazy wench!”
Father’s hand encircled her upper arm and yanked her from the steps. He slammed her to her feet and let go before she had her balance, sending her crashing back into the ladder. That hurt. Actually, everything to do with Father hurt.
“Where have you been?”
Ainslee’s heart hammered. Her throat closed off. Her mouth went dry. She’d have moved her hands to her breast to help with the thudding of her heart, but her father detested fear. Demonstrating it only got her more of his attention.
“Well?”
His voice was thunderous and loud. Due to the height of the library ceiling, it echoed. Ainslee lifted her shoulders slightly. Defensively.
“Answer me!”
“I…was reading, Father.”
“Are my bookshelves of such dust, you appear to have been swimming in it?”
Ainslee darted her eyes to his before looking down at herself. She could usually gauge his anger with one glance. Today was no exception. He was in a rage. It was going to be bad. The time he’d spent searching for her had only swelled it. She watched his fingers tighten on the riding crop in his hand.
“I…was looking…near the back,” she explained.
“For what in particular?”
“A book on…science.” Her voice dropped.
“Are you na’ under orders to stay from books and reading? And did na’ I just give this punishment but three day ago?”
Ainslee’s entire body went cold as he started slapping the riding crop against his thigh. Oh, dearest God! She’d forgotten. In her rush to protect Lileth, she’d failed to recall that he’d forbidden her the library.
“Well?”
“I…forgot.” The last word was whispered. There wasn’t enough moisture in her throat to say more.
“Ronald? Go to your room,” Father commanded.
“Now?”
“Must I suffer disobedience throughout my home? Aye! Now! Return to your rooms this moment, or I’ll attend to you next.”
Laird MacAffrey slapped a bookshelf with his riding crop, causing several volumes to jump. Ainslee followed suit. Her heart had turned into a wild caged thing. She didn’t care who noticed as she clenched her hands tightly together at her bosom. Ronald took off at a run. The door slammed behind him. That left William as a witness. It wasn’t helpful. She already knew he liked to watch.
Ainslee shut her eyes, sent a quick silent prayer, and the very next moment got rescued.
“Father. Please. I’m already late for my ride. I need Ainslee at the stable. My horse, Eros, will na’ accept a bridle for some reason. Can you na’ punish her later?”
The MacAffrey laird’s pride and joy, Ainslee’s eldest half-brother, stood at the door, lazily saying the words that saved her. Mitchell MacAffrey was three years her junior, but towered over just about everyone. Already six feet tall, he was strong, thick-boned, spoiled, self-centered, and extremely selfish. He was everything that made her father proud. And all of that was perfect for saving her right now.
He was standing just inside the portal, slapping his own riding crop against his thigh while he waited; the epitome of a MacAffrey clan heir being put-out at having to wait for something. Father sighed heavily.
“Go then, lass. But do na’ think this will na’ be taken up with you later.”
Ainslee raced around her father and then skirted William, grateful for strength and agility as her legs didn’t even betray how they quaked. Mitchell gave her a grudging nod, and motioned for her to follow him. He needn’t have bothered with that directive. She was so close to his heels, she was in danger of tripping.
CHAPTER FIVE
The first hint that they neared Straith Castle came a good span of time later. Neal didn’t have any way of checking time. That was ridiculous. It was 1803. It wasn’t the dark ages. Even Scot dukes should possess and carry a timepiece. Maybe not a wrist watch, but he should have a pocket watch, at least. He patted the open sides of his jacket for anything solid. Metallic. Checked his trouser pockets next. Got nothing but material.
He’d have to go by instinct. Experience. It felt like an hour had passed. Could have been more. Or less.
The castle grounds were an incalculable amount on acreage. There wasn’t any warning that he’d reached them, either. He’d been following a track that ran through a field of ripening grains when a chunk of dark stone appeared at his left, just off the beaten surface. It was followed by more rocks. The stones were impacted into the ground. Worn smooth with erosion and age. Large. More than a man could lift, and that hypothesis was only based on the surface area. There could be much more boulder beneath the sod for all Neal knew. Perhaps that explained why these people had just left them haphazardly looming from the ground, creating a tripping hazard for any unsuspecting traveler.
Or his horse.
Neal steered his mount to the right. The animal instantly obeyed. Thundercloud didn’t exhibit any fight. That was exhilarating; exactly as it had been the first time it had happened. Good thing. The rage that had colored his vision a reddish tone, gotten him atop this beast and clamped in place, and then pulled the reins from Rory, had long since vanished. Neal didn’t know the procedure for staying atop this beast if it acted up and decided to buck him off again, although clamping his thighs about its girth and grabbing a fistful of mane had already proven to work. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that mad, or the reason for it. He never lost his temper anymore. He rarely even raised his voice. Anger was an emotion, and he couldn’t afford those. Exhibiting emotion in any transaction was a surefire way to lose the objective.
Every negotiator knew what to project when they first approached a bargaining table. No emotion. Little expression. Zero sense of approachability. Neal hadn’t been labeled as a heartless man for no reason.
The stones got more numerous as he continued. Rory was somewhere behind him. Neal didn’t look to verify it. He heard him occasionally. The kid had a slight cough, and his horse a strange wheeze. Either could prove troublesome. Or, both. Neal wasn’t a chemist, but he knew the rudimentary power of bacteria. And penicillin didn’t exist. He supposed he could figure out something with molding bread, but he really didn’t want to worry over it.
He had a market takeover to plan.
Everything else was a waste of mental and physical energy.
The rocks became more numerous, jumbling together as they rose to stirrup level. Neal continued on. The conglomeration of stone grew thicker as well as higher. It had reached the height of his saddle when Neal deduced the purpose for it. It was a wall. Stoutly made. The stones were now shaped and fitted together, easily eight or nine feet in width. He moved his gaze above it and got the instant reason for such a wall. Beyond it was nothing but sky and water. And a large spit of land that jutted out into the span, getting splashed with white-crested waves.
It was an awe-inspiring view. Worthy of note. And extremely ill-advised.
Neal had visited several castles, spent an entire summer on t
he enterprise. He’d received quite the education in castle building. There’d been a reason. He’d contemplated buying one, and wasn’t spending resources on a piece of history if he didn’t know what it entailed. He’d decided in favor of acquiring and then restoring a ruin located somewhere in the interior of the continent. And why? Because castles were already drafty affairs. Interior climate control was impossible to maintain. Any castle built on a seacoast, especially at this altitude, would be open to the elements. He hoped it wasn’t built on a cliff. He’d have to deal with erosion, too.
It was obvious the original builders had chosen the location for the view. They hadn’t given one thought to the consequences. Owning this bit of real estate meant a constant battle with nature just to keep any structure intact, let alone habitable. Perhaps there was another location on his property better suited for building. He could always relocate. Use modern techniques. Confound the hell out of any historian centuries from now. Neal snickered, made a mental note to put it on the list for consideration, and looked back up the path.
The wall at his left was now being paralleled by one that had been meandering along the hill below them on the right. The view beyond it was of more water, making an inlet with a high cliff of more dark rock on the opposite side. The scene was beyond impressive. It was breathtaking. Absolutely majestic.
Someone had an exact idea of the impression they’d wanted to make when they’d chosen this location. Neal was experiencing it. Perhaps he needed to rethink the relocation plan. Heating and venting options could always be installed. Foundations could be shored up. He’d have to check into construction techniques. He wasn’t even sure if the Roman Empire’s use of concrete had been rediscovered yet. If not, he’d figure it out. He could use steel-reinforced cement on his castle. He knew for certain he was on the cusp of the industrial revolution. That’s why iron and then steel were at the top of his investment list.
Neal pulled on the reins. Thundercloud stopped. Rory joined him within moments.
“Your grace?”
“Who owns that land? Right...there?” He pointed toward the headland across the bay and swept his arm outward to encompass all of it.
“I believe...’tis Straith land.”
“I own it?”
“Now that, I...can na’ exactly say.”
“Why not?”
“I’m na’ entirely certain...I should speak.”
Neal considered the lad for a moment longer before speaking. “Rory. I had a bad spill. I can’t think clearly. I don’t remember...much. Can’t you just tell me?”
“’Tis na’ wise to speak ill of the dead, your grace.”
“Who died?”
“Your uncle, may God rest his soul.”
“The late duke?”
“Aye.”
“Recently?”
“Eight months past. Almost nine.”
“Nine months! And I just managed to get here?”
“Aye. Two days past.”
“Hmm. Sounds like I need to invest in transportation. Stat.”
“Your grace?”
“Oh. Um. Never mind me, Rory. I’ve...suffered a head injury.” He put his hand to his temple and tenderly dabbed at the spot. “But, tell me. Why did it take me so long to claim my inheritance? Surely travel doesn’t take that long.”
“They say you were...powerfully hard to persuade.”
“Really? Why is that?”
The lad flushed. “Well, the gossips say—uh.”
The kid’s voice stopped. Neal lifted his brows. “Yes?”
“I...should na’ have said anything.”
“How about I fill in blanks? You just nod.”
“I do na’ ken—”
“I was found in London? Isn’t that what you said?”
The lad nodded. His skin reddened even more. Neal barely caught the chuckle.
“Well. London must have quite a lot of enticements for a young man on the prowl. I must have been having a very good time. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Rory nodded again. Thundercloud shifted beneath Neal. He clamped his thighs on the horse’s sides. Thundercloud stopped fidgeting. Neal managed to stifle displaying the rush of pleasure at the horse’s obedience, as well as the amusement at Rory’s discomfiture.
“Did my uncle own that land?”
Rory nodded.
“Isn’t it part of the inheritance?”
The lad nodded. And the shook his head.
“All right. Forget nodding. Just explain.”
“’Tis na’ my place, your grace.”
“Then, whose is it?”
“Uh.”
“If you can’t answer my questions, who am I supposed to ask?”
“You have a steward.”
“I do?”
Rory nodded.
“Well. He’s not here with us now, is he?”
The lad shook his head. Neal sighed heavily. Thundercloud shifted again. Neal tightened his legs. The horse stopped moving.
“Can’t you just tell me? I won’t say anything about where I got my information. You have my word.”
“Well...rumor is your uncle was na’ right in the head. He lingered on a long time after his attack. Visited with all manner of solicitor fellows and lawyers, and the like.”
“And that means...?”
“I am na’ privy to the...contents of the will, your grace. Truly. All I have is rumor.”
Uh oh.
This could involve the little sprite who’d accosted him. She’d told Neal he had an appointment this afternoon with some laird, but the name escaped him. Ah! He should have a better recollection of events. He’d always had perfect recall before. She’d mentioned a name that began with an ‘A’. She’d pleaded with him to use that name today. Not the other one. He needed to use the ‘A’ name when he visited. It was required. She’d said it involved something in the Straithcairn will...
The spot between Neal’s shoulders clenched up. There’d been a lot of plots hatched to try and get a marriage noose about his neck. He wasn’t a good candidate for a husband. He liked his freedom too much. But to escape this one, he was going to need all his wits about him, and a lot more information. He looked up toward the sun. Afternoon was rapidly approaching.
Damn. Apparently, time was still his top priority. “You said I have a steward?”
He surprised Rory with the question and way he asked it. The kid jerked. He didn’t have any trouble with his horse, however.
“Aye.”
“Does he have a name?”
“Aye. Garrick Straith.”
“Ah. He’s a relative of mine?”
The kid met his gaze, but wouldn’t hold it. He looked away rapidly. Toward the path they should be moving along.
“We should get going,” Rory told him.
“Rory.”
The kid sighed. “Aye?”
“Is this Garrick a relative of mine or not?” Neal waited. Rory’s mount pranced for a bit. Quieted. The kid finally nodded.
“Close relation?”
“Uh. Aye.”
“There’s something you are not telling me, isn’t there?”
The kid’s skin went rosy-shaded again. “’Tis na’ my place—”
“Damn it! Just give me the answer. Or I’ll ask the next person I meet.”
“You do na’ want to do that.”
“Why not?”
The kid sighed heavily. “You may na’ wish to put much trust in Garrick.”
“My own steward? Why not?”
“Gossip has it he will inherit the dukedom...should you fail.”
“Fail? At what? I haven’t even started anything yet.”
“I do na’ ken the particulars. Na’ exactly.” The kid colored again. The difference between Rory and Neal’s twenty-first century assistant was clear. Eric was a lot more confident. He’d never blushed this often. Or this noticeably.
“But you know something,” Neal pressed.
Rory nodded.
<
br /> “Well. Spit it out. It can’t be that bad.”
“’Tis rumored you are required to wed with the MacAffrey lass.”
Oh. Crap.
That was a distinct wrinkle. This marriage noose sounded tough to wriggle out of, if not impossible.
Then again...nothing said that Neal Straithmore needed to be a Scottish duke in order to take over the stock market. Being a member of the peerage might actually be a deficit. Being located in the wilds of Scotland could be exponentially worse. Messages would take forever. Financial transactions might be impossible to oversee. He actually needed to be in New York. Wall Street.
It was 1803!
In June!
Shivers ran along his skin at the realization hit him. Somehow, he’d passed through a time portal. While that was mind-blowing, the possibilities before him were even more so. He was on the verge of history! Young. Fit. And he’d retained his financial savvy! The potential for fortune-making was astronomical.
The view faded into insignificance as Neal looked inward. He didn’t need this castle. Or a dukedom. He didn’t need anyone. All he needed were his wits...and maybe a small stake. Pennies. He wasn’t a history buff. He knew the financial markets, resource and asset management, strategies for renewable energy. He should still be able to figure out what stock to buy, how long to hold it, if and when to sell. He could easily be one of the wealthiest, most influential men on the planet before the decade was out, as well as fix the pollution issues of the twenty-first century.
“We need to get moving, your grace.”
Rory’s voice brought Neal back to the present with a jolt. He shook his head. Blinked. Focused. Scanned the incredible vista before him again. And then he experienced a sudden flash of something emotional through his chest. It held a hint of sadness. Even to him.
That was odd.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.”
