The Highlander's Excellent Adventure

by Shana Galen

  “That’s right,” he said. “I’m scared yer foolishness will get ye killed.”

  “Then send me back to London,” she said. It was a risky statement because he could do it. He could force her to go back if he really wanted her gone. But she had to push him. If she did not, she would never know if he felt for her what she felt for him. “Send me away. Tomorrow we will be at your home. You can arrange for me to go right back. I will probably even meet the colonel on the way back and that will make it easy for you.”

  “Is that what ye want then?” he asked.

  “Is it what you want?”

  He gave her a long, cold look. “Aye. I want ye gone. For good.”

  He walked away, and Ines did not cry. But she did not breathe either. She must have taken in air because she did not faint. She did not fall down from lack of air, but her chest hurt so badly she felt as though she could not take in enough, as though she would never take a deep breath again.

  And then her heart, like Duncan’s, would slowly wither away from lack of sustenance. And when her heart was finally cold, she might be able to do what her sister wanted and live quietly as a lacemaker, married to a man she did not love and could never care for.

  DUNCAN

  Duncan knew he was almost home when he saw the familiar landmarks. “I used tae swim in that stream,” he told Stratford, who rode beside him. “I used tae climb that tree. I used tae fish in the sea just over those hills.”

  But he felt home when people he recognized waved and called greetings to him. It was the people that made Kirkmoray home, not the rocks on which he once played King of the Mountain or the bridges he raced friends across. His heart seemed to grow in his chest as people came out of their homes to wave to him.

  The party of four, Duncan and Stratford in front and Miss Wellesley with Ines behind her in the rear, had arrived about midday. The farmers and laborers were home for a meal before going back to the fields or their shops. The townspeople called out and greeted him and several of the young boys raced ahead. Duncan assumed they were running to tell his mother to set an extra plate at the table. He hoped they told her to set four extras.

  Duncan smiled and waved. He had missed Kirkmoray and missed these people. He’d spent almost a year here when he’d returned from the war. He’d thought after fighting for all those years he was ready to take over his mother’s farm and household. His older brother, known as Little James, though he was as tall as Duncan, owned several seafaring vessels that traded all over the world. The Murrays had always been a people connected with the sea, though Duncan’s father preferred farming to sailing or fishing and Duncan had always lived more inland than seaside. Little James had his own house and spent much of his time at the laird’s keep, assisting the duke with all of his responsibilities. Duncan had spent time with his uncle after the war but found the daily bureaucracy of it all tedious. He had not minded the farming, but he’d also felt as though he were missing something.

  He’d been restless and could not seem to settle. He’d gone to London to visit his friends, and then his mother had called him back and sent him to find a bride.

  At the thought of a bride, he couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder. Ines should have been behind him, holding on to him as she had the past few days, and driving him wild with the way her small hands gripped his waist. But she had chosen to ride behind Miss Wellesley today. She hadn’t even looked at him this morning.

  Duncan was certain Stratford and his cousin could feel the tension between Ines and himself, but they said nothing.

  And Ines said nothing. And everyone said nothing, which should have been just fine except Duncan missed feeling Ines behind him. And when he pointed things out to Stratford, he wanted to be pointing them out to Ines. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to share his land and people with her. He wanted to share everything with her.

  But he had ruined that possibility, and it was probably for the best. In a few days, Draven would show up and take her home, and now she would be happy to go with him. Duncan had brought her safely to Kirkmoray, despite a few bumps along the way. He could breathe again when she was back in London. He would never breathe while she was nearby and in danger every minute. He couldn’t understand why he had ever allowed her to accompany him. At first, it had been the path of least resistance. She seemed determined, and he wanted to go home. And then, Duncan could admit, he’d wanted her with him. But after the reivers had taken her, Duncan had realized what an idiot he’d been. She was not safe here, not even with him. And if she was in danger, then a part of him was in danger. He would not be able to relax again until she was back where she ought to be.

  She thought she loved him, and he’d told her he could not love her back because he had no heart. He’d thought that was true, but even as he’d told her, he’d known it was a lie. His heart wanted to love her, but he couldn’t risk it. He could not risk losing someone else he loved. And then he also knew the futility of loving her. He owed his mother. She had asked one thing of him, and who was he to deny her after everything he had taken from her? He had taken her love, and he must give up his.

  Duncan stared hard ahead, hardening his heart and resolve as he did so. “Just over this hill then,” he said to Stratford and spurred his horse forward. Stratford did the same and the two men paused at the rise and looked down into the valley below.

  “Gad, Duncan,” Stratford said. “I had no idea this was what you meant when you said you’d grown up on a farm in the Highlands.”

  Duncan’s mouth curved upward. He tried to see the house as Ines—nae, Stratford—might. It was made of ancient stone, the main section built hundreds of years ago. But that main section, now the dining hall, had been enlarged upon over the centuries until the house now had two wings that boasted six bedrooms, a servants’ quarters, a sitting room, a drawing room, and a library. The kitchen was just behind the house, and Duncan could see the doors were open and smoke puffed cheerfully into the gray sky.

  In the courtyard below, chickens pecked and a goat milled about. He could hear the sounds of horses stamping their feet in the stables. Beyond the house were the fields and then the tenant farms, the families of which had all pledged fealty to the laird.

  Duncan was aware when Miss Wellesley and Ines reached the mountain’s peak. He resisted the urge to turn and see Ines’s face. He might have wished for a sunny day, as the house looked less dreary and dark in the sun, but what did it matter? She would be here a few days and then back on her way. It did not signify what she thought of the place.

  Just as Duncan was about to suggest they ride down, the door to the house opened, and a tall woman in a green dress stepped out. She looked up at the hill. Duncan couldn’t see the details of his mother’s face from this distance, but he knew the expression she made. It was one of impatience. She did not like to be kept waiting.

  “Is that Lady Charlotte?” Miss Wellesley asked.

  “Aye.”

  “She’s so beautiful,” Miss Wellesley said. “I had heard the stories, but the descriptions do not do her justice.”

  “Nae point in telling her that,” Duncan said. “She’s immune tae flattery. We’d best go now. She doesnae like tae be kept waiting.”

  They rode down the hill, the horses picking their way along the well-worn path. By the time they reached the bottom, Lady Charlotte had gone in again. But two grooms were waiting. “Mr. Murray!” the younger said. “Yer home!”

  “Aye, Robbie,” Duncan said, dismounting and playfully tousling the lad’s hair. “Ye’ve grown since I saw ye last.”

  “I hope so. I’m sixteen now!”

  “So ye are.” He turned to the other groom, who was just a few years older. “Walter, how are things?”

  “Verra good, sir. Lady Charlotte will be happy yer home.” His gaze strayed to the ladies, who Stratford had assisted with dismounting. “And ye’ve brought guests.”

  Duncan smiled wryly. He knew the implication. The lad thought one of the w
omen must be his bride. Duncan supposed he should disabuse his mother of that idea right away, so there were no misunderstandings.

  “Robbie and Walter, these are my friends, Mr. Fortescue, Miss Wellesley, and Miss Neves. They’ve come all the way from England.”

  The lads bowed. “We’ll take good care of the horses,” Robbie said. “And the dog.” He gestured to Loftus, who was sniffing at the ground and eyeing the chickens nervously.

  “Good. Their master will arrive in a few days tae take the horses back. The dog belongs tae Miss Wellesley. He could use a bath before he comes inside.” He gestured to the small party. “If ye’ll follow me.”

  They walked across the courtyard, the shadow of the house creeping closer. The chickens scattered as they moved closer, and the maids in the laundry nearby paused in their washing to smile and nod at him. This was home, but after his father’s death, it had never felt particularly warm or welcoming.

  He stopped at the door, wiped his boots, and lifted the latch. “Mother!” he called as he entered. “I’m home.”

  She stepped out of the dining hall, which adjoined the entryway. “I can see that.” Her voice still held the English accent, though it had been softened a bit by her time in Scotland. Her dark black hair had a wee bit more gray in it, he saw, but it tended toward silver, and the way her maid had swept it into her coiffure only made her look more elegant. She approached as the others crowded inside behind him. Coming close, she took his shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks. She smelled of lavender, as she always had. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I am glad you are well, my son.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I thought I told you to bring home a bride.”

  Seventeen

  INES

  Ines did not know what she had expected Duncan’s home to look like. She supposed she had imagined one of those small dwellings they’d passed on the trip here. They were sturdy enough homes, built low to the ground and with thatched roofs. But this was no small dwelling. This was a stately home.

  The entryway was long and paneled in wood. A table sat against one wall, a crystal bowl on top of it. Light poured through a window high above the door. Ines imagined if it had been sunny, the blue and green rugs she stood on would have been bathed in light. And then, just as she was accustoming herself to this part of the house and imagining what the rest must have looked like, Lady Charlotte stepped out and into the far end of the entryway.

  When Emmeline had remarked that she was beautiful, Ines had tried to look around the other woman to get a look. She had seen her, but not very well. Years of doing detailed work in dim light meant that she could not see as well far away as she did up close. She saw only a female figure, a tall woman with dark hair, but no details.

  But now she saw the details, and Emmeline had not exaggerated. Lady Charlotte was beautiful. Like her son, she was tall, but where Duncan was broad, she was slim and elegant. Her thick hair, a dark mahogany, was brushed with silver that had been swept gracefully into a delicate chignon. Her eyes were green, not amber like her son’s, and they looked almost emerald. Ines supposed that she had chosen her dress because it complemented her eyes. It was made of fine wool, and she wore a plaid shawl draped about her shoulders. She’d seen that pattern before, perhaps on something Duncan had worn, and Ines assumed the colors were those of the Murray clan.

  Lady Charlotte had greeted her son warmly enough—at first—but then her eyes had drifted to Emmeline and skated over Ines. Skated was exactly the word Ines wanted because she felt like a sharp blade had run over her skin. If she had ever wondered if this woman would think her good enough for her son, Ines had her answer.

  Not that it mattered as Duncan did not want her anyway. Well—he might want her, but he did not love her, did not want to marry her. Ines squared her shoulders. What did she care what the legendary Lady Charlotte thought of her? Ines and Catarina had been looked down upon in Lisbon then Barcelona then London. Until people discovered their lace. Then they fell all over themselves to buy it.

  Catarina always said skill and talent were better than status because with skill and talent one could not only create beautiful things but earn money from the sale of those things. Status only bought one respect, and one could not fill an empty belly with respect. And so even though Ines had never felt more like the daughter of a Portuguese peasant than in this moment, she lifted her head high and looked Lady Charlotte in the eye. She had skill and talent. She had made something of herself. She did not need Lady Charlotte’s approval.

  Beside her, Emmeline curtsied. Ines glanced at her, then tried to do the same, clumsily, when Emmeline swatted at her. Duncan introduced them, Emmeline first.

  “A pleasure to finally meet you,” Emmeline said, rising from her curtsy. “I have heard so much about you.”

  Lady Charlotte raised her brows. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “Of course not,” Emmeline said.

  “Only the really bad things you’ve heard about me are true.”

  Emmeline started to laugh, but when Lady Charlotte did not smile, Emmeline closed her mouth and tried to look serious again.

  “Lady Charlotte, might I present Miss Neves,” Duncan said. Ines had already risen from her poor attempt at a curtsy and wasn’t quite sure what to do when Lady Charlotte’s green eyes fastened on her. Her first instinct was to cower. She had not really thought about what she looked like for several days. She had washed quickly with cold water every morning, so she was clean, but she hadn’t made much of an effort with her hair, and from the corner of her eye she saw it hung over her shoulders in messy tangles. And then there was her dress. Mrs. Brown had given her a maid’s livery she had found at Wentmore, and Ines had been grateful to have clothing not covered in blood.

  But now she saw herself as Lady Charlotte did. Far from being dressed in the latest fashion, as she had been when she had left London, Ines wore an ill-fitting maid’s dress that she’d caught on a log and whose hem hung lower on one side than the other.

  There was nothing she could do about it, though. And it was not as though it mattered what Lady Charlotte thought of her. Duncan wanted her to go. Benedict would track her down any minute and then she would be gone. Who cared if her hem had come loose?

  “Welcome, Miss Neves,” Lady Charlotte said, her voice formal and far from welcoming. “I do not know the name Neves.”

  “It is not an English name, my lady,” Ines said. Lady Charlotte’s eyes widened slightly when she heard Ines speak. “I am from Portugal, though I live in London now.”

  “I see. And what brought you to London?”

  Ines could hear the next question already—and what brings you here?

  But Duncan interrupted. “Mother, you have nae greeted Mr. Fortescue. Lady Charlotte, Stratford Fortescue.”

  Fortescue gave a deep bow. “Lady Charlotte, I am honored.”

  She offered her hand and he took it and kissed it.

  “Your father is a baron?”

  Stratford nodded. “He is.”

  “And you fought with my son under Colonel Draven.”

  “I did, my lady.”

  “Well, then, you are most welcome.” Her eyes slid to Emmeline and then briefly to Ines. “All of you.” She ushered them inside and bid them follow her into what Ines soon saw was the dining hall. “One of the little boys from the village ran ahead and told me to expect you, so I have had Cook keep the midday meal long enough so you might settle in then eat. But it appears there is little to settle in.” She looked at Duncan. “Your trunks arrived a day or so ago, but no other luggage came ahead of you.”

  Ines did not know why she did it. Perhaps because she’d grown used to Emmeline’s brashness. Perhaps because the high, vaulted ceiling of the dining hall, the huge hearth that took up almost an entire wall, and the flickering candles in the wall scones all about made her nervous and feel as though she had stepped back in time to when knights roamed the land. Ines said, “We do not have any luggage, your lady. Just the clothes on our b
acks.”

  Silence slammed down so quickly that Ines could hear the rattling of pots in the distant kitchen.

  “It’s a long story,” Duncan said.

  “It always is.” Lady Charlotte gestured for everyone to take their seats and then rang a bell. A footman came in with a tray of steaming towels. Using tongs, he handed each of them one to clean their hands. Ines was impressed. She had not ever thought about such things being done at a dining table, but obviously she was the only one not familiar with the ritual as Emmeline and Duncan knew exactly what to do. She might have stared at her towel curiously if she had not watched the others. It seemed everyone in London considered Scotland a land of barbarians, but clearly those people had never traveled to Scotland. Aside from the reivers, it was a land of kind and generous people. More than thirty years here had not obliterated all of the social customs from Lady Charlotte.

  When the footman collected the towels and exited, Lady Charlotte steepled her fingers and said, “I am breathless with anticipation.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “I can simplify it for ye. Miss Wellesley is Fortescue’s cousin.”

  “We are not technically cousins,” Emmeline said.

  “Our mothers have always been close, and they called us cousins,” Fortescue explained.

  Duncan glared at them. “As I was saying,” he began again when they quieted. “Miss Wellesley wanted tae visit her grandmother in Cumbria. Stratford went along tae escort her.”

  Lady Charlotte looked at her son then looked at her guests. “I feel compelled to point out, this is not Cumbria.” She looked at Mr. Fortescue. “And you, cousin or not, are not a proper escort for a young lady.”

  The door opened, and the footman had returned with a tureen of soup. The conversation ceased as he served each of them then placed a basket of warm bread on the table. Ines was suddenly so hungry, she was dizzy with it. She tried to remember her manners, but she feared she attacked the soup as a wolf might a rabbit.