******************
Knight watched the scene unfold with an air of resignation from the window. While he felt like scolding his betrothed for withholding yet another secret, he was too deeply in love with her to let the matter come between them. So this was what, or, rather, who had unsettled her last night, and could he blame her for not sharing such a peculiar uncle with the world?
He couldn't decide what to make of Murdo himself, with his slightly pointy ears and scraggly silver-red beard. He resembled some sort of domesticated gnome, a brownie in threadbare tartan who might at any moment leap up from his chair and disappear into the mist.
"Her mother and I had a falling out over her foolish infatuation with a nobleman," Murdo was saying, with a meaningful look at Knight in case he was dense to draw the parallel.
Knight frowned. A suitor he could toss out on his ear. An insulting uncle was another matter entirely.
"It was ever so much more than a falling out," Catriona said, settling stiffly into a chair, "and her love for him was more than infatuation."
"A love that was never returned," Murdo said. "My dear sister wasted her precious life on that scoundrel. He never visited once after the day he ruined her."
"How would you know?" Catriona asked, sitting forward to glare at him.
Knight came up behind her chair, placing his hand on her shoulder like an anchor. He did not want this man upsetting her with reminders of what could not be changed. "What part of Scotland are you from?" he asked conversationally.
Murdo hesitated. "Our family is originally from the Highlands, sir, but I have recently returned to Peebles."
Aunt Marigold covertly adjusted her wig before passing Murdo a plate of raspberry tartlets. "Is that anywhere near Aberdeen?" she asked. "I have an old friend there myself."
"No, madam," he answered, gracing her efforts at kindness with a brief smile, "but I hear it is a charming city, and so, that a friend of yours should settle there is no surprise to me."
"Hmm. Yes. Yes, well." She took a bite of her tart to divert attention from a blush, nodding intently as if he were the most fascinating visitor she had ever entertained. What a shame the unpleasant matter of Catriona's father came between them, this earl who bore a distant relationship to Lionel, thereby also connecting Marigold to his behavior. But then, every family suffered its black sheep. One only had to take a look at Knight, for example, with his taciturn manner and amorous nature, to realize that fact.
"I suppose that one has no choice but to forgive in such circumstances," she said, her blush deepening as she realized she had spoken her innermost thoughts out loud. "Family entanglements are so complicated, aren't they?"
"Indeed they are." Murdo smiled at her again before directing a frown at his wayward niece. "But the point I wish to emphasize is that young people these days think they know better than their elders. Times may have changed, but human nature has not."
"How true," Marigold said.
Catriona heaved a loud sigh, earning a scowl of mild rebuke from Marigold. "What is true," she said, "is that I am no longer a child, a fact my uncle has obviously forgotten. But then, having spent the last decade or so pretending that my mother and I did not exist, his lack of attention should not surprise me."
Knight gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "She is of a legal age to marry without consent. In Scotland, I believe, this would not be an issue."
Murdo shot him a look. "I believe it would. There is more to a marriage than legal consent."
"Indeed there is," Knight said heartily, wondering what this was leading to. He tried to catch Wendell's eye, to gauge his friend's reaction to the situation, but Duke, he realized with a sting of shock, had not stopped staring at Olivia all morning. In fact, now that Knight thought about it, his old friend always seemed to be staring at her these days.
He straightened his shoulders. Could it be? Wendell and his sister? He didn't know whether to knock Duke's head off or shake his hand. Olivia? The victim of Wendell's boyhood pranks, imprisoned in the Meacham manor attic with a skeleton, its skull backlit with one of the old duchess's beeswax candles? Some chance of a love match there. Olivia and Wendell knew each other too well. Olivia was three years older than him. Wendell had loved Lionel, too.
But what had Wendell been doing the night before while he was supposed to be diverting Olivia? Knight's eyebrows drew into a scowl of brotherly concern.
Olivia's cultured voice, a quaver of uncertainty beneath the coolness, entered the conversation. "Of course, you are absolutely right about the matter of marriage, which is why, not knowing Catriona could count on your assistance, Marigold and I took it upon ourselves to find her a suitable husband."
Murdo glanced disapprovingly at Knight. "Him?"
Olivia's lips tightened. "That depends on whom you ask. Actually, there are a few other local candidates, two of whom must be given serious consideration."
"You have obviously gone to great trouble on my niece's account—"
"My sister has wasted her time," Knight interjected, "not to mention my money."
"It was all quite unnecessary," Murdo said. "I have already found the perfect match for Catriona, a young man more than equal to her . . . talents. In fact, before her mother and I quarreled, we privately agreed that he would be a desirable mate."
"Who the devil are you talking about?" Catriona asked, held in place only by Knight's hand on her shoulder. "I don't remember any of this—this mating business."
"Well, of course not," Murdo said. "You were only a bairn, and Lamont was nine—"
"Lamont? Lamont Montgomery?" This time, she did fly off the chair, shock draining her cheeks of color. "That awful, that wicked—"
"So you do remember him," Murdo said in approval.
"He set the village kirk on fire," she exclaimed. "Everyone talked about it for years afterward."
Murdo smiled fondly at the memory. "That was a long time ago, before Lamont had his abilities under control. He's quite a success now. Besides, a lightning rod hit the kirk, or so the story went."
"And what was Lamont doing on the church roof during the sermon?" Catriona asked.
Marigold pursed her lips. "My, you seem to remember this young man quite well yourself. I don't suppose he has a title?"
"Not in this world," Murdo said enigmatically.
Knight folded his arms over his chest and said, rather rudely, "Well, if he was that interested in marrying her, you'd think he would come in person at least to renew her acquaintance, if not to propose himself."
Murdo glanced up at him. "Did I forget to mention that we traveled from Scotland together? Lamont had to stop for some business at Annan, but he should arrive here by dinner tonight."
"By dinner tonight," Wendell said, smiling across the room at Knight. "What do you think of that? The Husband Hunt has yielded some rather interesting quarry."
What Knight thought of this controversial figure from Catriona's past could hardly be expressed in polite company. But whoever Lamont was, he was certainly not going to interfere with the elopement, which reminded Knight that he had no business standing there with plans to be made before the journey north.
"Excuse me," he said to the room in general. "Wendell and I have some business matters to discuss. We'll be in the study should anyone require our company."
"Oh, your study," Olivia said, not quite catching herself before Knight saw her sneak a look at Wendell and blush.
So he was right. Something had gone on between the two of them. While he and Catriona had been making passionate love in the summerhouse last night, Wendell and Olivia had been in the study— doing what?
Catriona threw him an annoyed look as he left the room, no doubt wondering why he was abandoning her to this social torture. He gave her a beguiling smile from the door, then mouthed, "Tonight."
******************
"I bet you'd forgotten that the manufacturing chemist from Bristol is due to arrive on Friday," Wendell said as they walked down the ha
ll to the study.
"No," Knight said. "I hadn't forgotten."
"Well, I'm not sure I should be the one to interview him," Wendell said, pausing outside the door. "After all, you're the one with the scientific mind. At least, until recently."
Knight looked at him. "Shall we take this conversation inside my study? I believe you feel quite comfortable there."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Wendell asked.
"I don't know." Knight brushed past him. "Why don't you tell me?"
Wendell followed him into the room, looking perplexed. "Someone clearly did not have a good night's sleep. I think we'll all be glad when you get married and settle down. What do you want me to do while you're gone?"
Knight removed a leather portfolio from his desk drawer, deliberately not looking up. "Everything the chemist needs to know about the porcelain works is in these papers. Take him for a tour, if you like, ask his opinion on whether it's worth digging for china clay. As far as other matters, well, it's obvious you know how to keep yourself occupied."
Wendell sat down on the couch. "What?"
"How long have you been in love with my sister?"
Wendell paused. "Probably since I was seven. Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," Knight said wryly. "Just curious, I suppose. Not that it's any of my business—you didn't seduce her in here last night, did you?"
"I wouldn't tell you if I did."
Their eyes met across the desk. "I don't suppose you'll tell me how she took it, either," Knight said after a long silence. "Or am I the only one who didn't know?"
Wendell shifted his shoulders back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think she knew how to take it. In fact, I've probably shocked her. But"—he glanced down at his friend—"it's all your fault, anyway."
"My fault?" Knight said, his large hands folded in a tight knot over the portfolio. "Kindly explain that remark."
"Well." Wendell sighed. "It was all the romance in the air, the way you and Catriona stole glances at each other at the dance, and sneaking out to the summerhouse. No one is going to be surprised if, nine months from now, there's a bouncing baby in the family cradle for the proud parents to gush over. It made me sad and envious. And impatient. I'm twenty-seven next month."
"Olivia and Wendell." Knight broke into a devilish grin. "You poor fool."
"Do you think Lionel would mind?" Wendell asked anxiously.
"I can't see that Lionel has much of a say in the matter." Knight tapped his fingers against the portfolio. "It's Olivia you have to convince."
"What about you?"
"What do I have to do with it?"
"That's exactly what I mean," Wendell said. "Before you met Catriona, we wouldn't have gotten two minutes into this conversation before you killed me for touching your sister."
"You touched her?" Knight sat forward, frowning.
"What do you think?"
"I think that you would be good for each other," Knight said carefully. "I do wish, however, that you had waited until after I was married to—there aren't going to be two babies to gush over nine months hence, I hope."
Wendell stared up at the ceiling again. "The crew of the Zephyr have been notified of your arrival. What time do you want my carriage to meet you in the woods?"
"At eleven o'clock, if possible."
"Olivia will be upset," Wendell murmured.
"Then you may console her."
Wendell smiled.
******************
Lamont Montgomery sat at the dining table in the baronial manor house where he was an honored guest, but his attention wandered. Word of his supernatural talents had reached certain social circles, and he was often invited to these private parties in the hope that he would "perform." On occasion, he did.
He could throw his shadow to confound an enemy. He could enchant animals and raise a marvelous storm. But he had not yet perfected the art of shape-shifting, even though Murdo counseled him that such skill would come with time.
A frown darkened Lamont's arrogantly chiseled face. He was impatient. Why should someone of his abilities have to wait? He did not want to increase his power for evil's sake, but neither did he wish to become some silly old wizard whose primary calling was curing warts.
He needed the Earth stone. He ached to know the power that had made Michael Scot a legend. He ached to harness the elements for the sheer exhilaration of it.
Murdo wanted him to marry his runaway niece.
Lamont cast an uninterested glance at the young ladies seated around him, their figures ripe in dampened gowns. Their pretty faces and vain chatter made him wonder if there even existed a woman in this world who could capture his heart. He smiled at the memory of Catriona, a beauty with a mind and power of her own. He wondered if time had changed her as much as it had him. Would she prove to be the mate he sought?
He rose from the table, ignoring the petulant pleas that he stay and entertain his host. Could he walk through walls? a young woman begged. Could he remove Lady Beatrice's garter without touching her? an older man asked slyly.
"Perhaps another time," he said with a polite smile. He moved toward the door, then paused, narrowing his eyes. With no apparent effort at all, without moving a muscle, he concentrated and extinguished every candle in the room, leaving the guests in a smoky haze of awestruck silence.
He was already outside when his startled audience broke into applause. He had tarried long enough, avoiding the inevitable. It was time to renew his stormy relationship with Catriona Grant.
Chapter 20
Knight and Catriona made a point of ignoring each other for the rest of the day. It was not difficult with Murdo and Marigold overshadowing their every move. But the plans had already been laid; enlisting Howard as an ally, Knight had managed to stash their luggage in Wendell's carriage for the journey to the coast, although he had to admit it seemed rather extreme, two grown people eloping to escape their family's interference.
"Seems like a lot of bother when a special license would have done the trick," Howard remarked on their way back to the house. And then, as if realizing he had once again overstepped his bounds, he added, "Of course, it all has a very romantic air about it, my lord. A duke's carriage waiting in the woods to whisk you—"
"Just don't get any ideas about running off with the parlor maid while I'm gone," Knight said as they paused at the edge of the estate.
He stopped to examine the house, wondering how it would weather a growing family. When he returned, he would be married, entering a new phase of life. Would there really be children playing fairies and Robin Hood in the garden a few years hence? Everyone grew old, but not everyone had the good fortune to find love, and even those who did sometimes lost it. Take Lionel and Olivia. Would Lionel mind if she married their childhood friend, or did it even matter? Would he want Catriona to remarry or remain a widow forever in the event he died before her?
He wasn't sure how he felt about Olivia marrying Wendell. It certainly changed the casual path they had been following. He and Duke would become brothers-in-law, uncles, fathers. Solid and settled-down husbands who stood by the fireplace and doled out advice they had never taken in their lives. But at the end of those lives, there would be a family to mourn their passing, a clan forged of entanglements, celebrations, and heartaches, though, he hoped, not too many.
He liked the thought of being surrounded by loved ones and friends, as long as he and his viscountess did not have to sneak off to the summerhouse to be alone. Which made him wonder if this wouldn't be a good time to add another wing where Marigold could stay when she wasn't visiting Olivia and Wendell. The woman was getting too old to live by herself. And there was Catriona's half brother James to consider. He might come to winter here.
"There's the old dragon Mrs. E now." Howard's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Hide behind the hedge, my lord, before she sees us and asks what we were doing in the woods."
Knight reached out and pulled the young man back into t
he open by the scruff of his neck. "I am not hiding from my housekeeper on my own estate, do you hear me? The situation is absurd. Can an Englishman no longer take a walk in the woods these days without falling under suspicion? One would think that the little dictator himself had infiltrated Devon."
"Oh, no," Howard cried, practically hopping up and down. "There's Miss Grant, coming this way, and Mrs. E is ploughing a path straight toward us."
"Howard," Knight said in a stern voice, "get a hold of yourself this instant."
Howard shook his head. "But Mrs. E is going to guess, don't you see, my lord? She's going to ask us why we were in the woods together, and then she'll find the carriage, and—"
"Just keep walking, and let me answer the questions," Knight said sharply, nudging the man toward the bridge. "And for pity's sake, Howard, open your eyes. Mrs. Evans is not the firing squad."
"No," Howard muttered. "The firing squad is fast and kind. Mrs. E is death by slow torture."
Mrs. Evans stopped at the foot of the bridge, breathless and clearly out of sorts. "There. I've found you at last, my lord. Mr. Aubrey said you were in the study, and then Smythe said he'd seen you in the stables, and—"
Knight clasped his hands behind his back. "May I help you, Mrs. Evans?"
She frowned briefly at Howard before replying. "It's about the dinner party tonight, my lord."
Knight hesitated. From the corner of his eye, he could see Catriona flitting around the summerhouse like a pale yellow butterfly. The sight of her completely diverted him, especially when he remembered exactly what they had done on that musty couch the previous evening and would be doing for countless enjoyable years to come.
She glanced up and gave him a negligent little wave that drove him wild. Even from there, she tempted him, teased him with that self-conscious smile and that languid way she had of moving. Boys chased butterflies but rarely caught them. He wanted her on that couch again; he wanted to be inside her and feel her legs wrapped around his waist, squeezing the life from him.
"—and seeing that they are both Scottish," Mrs. Evans said, "I had thought it would be nice to start off with pheasant soup."
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