Amanda Scott (11 page)

“I’ll see that he doesna speak out o’ turn,” Maggie said.

“But why tell him at all?”

“Blame yourself for that. ’Twas your bright notion tae bring his lass into it.”

“But even had I not, Kit Chisholm was bound to mix with the Carmichael household eventually, so we’d have encountered Fergus
anyway,” Catriona retorted.

“Aye, that be so,” Maggie agreed. “That dratted Jonah set me temper afire, and it hasna cooled yet. But ye’ve set your own
finger on why we must tell Fergus.”

“Why?”

“Because he can help us. He’ll ha’ been watching his lass, so he already kens much about that household.”

“D’ye think Claud is there?”

“He may be,” Maggie said. “He’s near, because I can sense his presence and Jonah wants us tae find him. It wouldna be any
fun for him otherwise, and he thinks we canna help Claud even if we do find him, so likely he’s melded him tae some’un in
the Carmichael household or at Hawks Rig. We’ll just ha’ tae learn who.”

“But how?”

“I’m thinking that being tied tae my Claud would alter any mortal,” Maggie said with a wry smile. “We’ll watch for traits
that seem more in keeping wi’ his personality than wi’ that o’ the mortal, but tae do that we’ll ha’ tae find which one o’
them has recently changed his or her ways.”

“Her
ways?”

“Aye, sure, Jonah could ha’ put Claud anywhere.”

“I never thought of a woman,” Catriona said. “What if no one has changed?”

“Then we’ll try summat else, but we’ll no quit till we find him. And then Jonah Bonewits will rue the day he did this. On
that, ye ha’ me promise.”

“Fergus was right about one thing, Maggie. Jonah
is
dangerous.”

“Aye, he is, but so am I. Now, follow that lad o’ yours. I want tae think.”

Catriona obeyed, but as she went, a tear spilled down her cheek. What if they never found Claud?

His body, or whatever was left of it, stirred abruptly as if Catriona had touched him, and something inside him strengthened
at her touch. He had sensed her presence in the air for some time, but the sensation had been vague at best.

At the time of the incident, he had felt as if a bolt of burning fire surged through him only to be doused when he plunged
into icy water. From there, water nymphs had transported him to a doorway filled with light. Passing through it, he had felt
an extraordinary sensation, as if his spirit had died, taking all desire with it and leaving him exposed to what lay on the
other side. He had heard that death meant losing one’s sense of self and one’s desire, primary traits that members of the
Clan shared with the mortal world, and so he had believed that he was dying.

Apparently, that belief had been wrong.

Earlier, he had felt lonely, certain that Catriona had forgotten him and already had other affairs on her mind. In the dense
gray light he had inhabited for what seemed eons, he had feared he would never again see her lovely face.

But suddenly, he had seen all three of them, and he could hear them, too, but he could not speak and obviously they could
not see him.

Who was the scoundrel with Catriona, and why did she flutter her lashes at him? Never before had he felt such helpless frustration.

As Kit rode away from Mute Hill House, his usual sharp wits threatened to abandon him and he found himself shifting uncomfortably
on his saddle. Half-formed thoughts collided with one another before any could fully form itself or make much sense. His lips
burned, and for some distance, his body’s reaction to the woman he had just kissed made sitting difficult and his ride thus
a penance.

He had never met a woman like Lady Anne Ellyson, but the same independence of mind and spirit that attracted him had stirred
him to take liberties that no gentleman should take with a lady. On the other hand, had he not kissed her, he might well have
shaken her for taking such dangerous risks with her life.

What if he had not been there when she chanced upon the reivers? The thought made him shudder. At the least, Sammy and his
lot would have taken her horse and left her to walk the rest of the way in the treacherous darkness. At the worst… But he
refused to entertain thoughts of the worst. Reivers were guilty of many things, but rarely did any of them harm innocent women
or children.

Of course, any innocent, sensible young woman would have relinquished her mount to any band of reivers that demanded it, but
he had no doubt that Lady Anne would have continued to raise a fuss had he not been there to intervene. What had her people
been thinking to allow her so much freedom?

Other men than reivers stalked the Borders, after all, including English and Scottish soldiers and the vermin that skittered
in their wake. Moreover, nothing that he had heard about Armadale led him to believe the earl would have approved of his daughter’s
behavior or that he would have countenanced such goings-on whilst she lived beneath his roof. Clearly, Lady Carmichael, although
born into the same family, was not cut from the same bolt as the earl.

The tip of a quarter moon peeked over the eastern horizon, spilling more light onto his path. Urging his horse to a trot,
and satisfied that Willie’s beast would follow, Kit continued to try to impose order on his scattered thoughts.

His primary course remained the same, for it was more important than ever now to learn what his uncle was up to and to decide
exactly what he himself must do to sort out his affairs and reclaim his rightful lands and titles. But he could no longer
ignore his erstwhile betrothal while he looked into those things.

Certainly poor Fiona, in the belief that he was dead, was being led to the altar unwillingly and under false pretenses. Whatever
else she might believe about Eustace Chisholm, both she and her mother clearly believed that by marrying him, Fiona would
become Lady Chisholm and reign as mistress over the vast Chisholm estates. As for his greedy uncle, evidently the man was
not satisfied to have usurped the estates and titles but was determined to carry off the heiress, too.

However, they were all acting without considering Lady Anne, and Kit had the feeling that left to her own devices, her ladyship
might come up with a way to stop the wedding. Even as that thought formed, it stirred an appreciative smile, although he knew
she had little chance of success on her own.

If she were to declare that he lived and should be the one to marry Mistress Carmichael, they would doubtless dismiss her
assertions and clap her up securely for the duration of the ceremony. Then, even if he should step forward afterward to reclaim
what was his, Eustace would already have his heiress bride. If one believed Lady Anne’s description of her cousin, as he did,
Mistress Carmichael would not defy her mother’s wishes by taking a firm stand and refusing to marry.

Kit had meant it when he said that he would seek Anne out, and he meant to do so soon, because he looked forward to crossing
verbal swords with her again. Her cousin, by comparison, sounded like a lass who would blush, bridle, and agree with whatever
a man said, as so many innocent young women did. Commendable behavior, he supposed, but he suspected that such submissiveness
would grow tiresome before long. In fact, the meek Fiona sounded like a dead bore.

Lady Anne, on the other hand, was a woman so cool that one longed to warm her up, so calm that one longed to agitate her.
He had wondered if she ever lost her temper, and it had afforded him a certain satisfaction to learn that she did, although
admittedly, the behavior that had provoked her was outrageous. Still, her shocked look after she slapped him assured him that
the temperamental outburst was a rarity.

His body relaxed at last, and riding grew easier. He continued to think pleasantly about Lady Anne until it suddenly occurred
to him that if he freed Fiona from his uncle, an unfortunate but natural outcome would result unless he could persuade them
that her betrothal to Eustace had abrogated the one to him or that his supposed death had rendered it moot.

By the time he rejoined Willie, Sammy, and the others, he had decided that no matter what he might learn about Eustace from
the reivers, he would attend the wedding. Few if any guests were likely to recognize him, and certainly, Eustace himself would
not, for in the past six years, the Kit Chisholm that he had seen so infrequently had changed from a stripling to a man, adding
height, girth, and muscle. His face had lost the soft curves of youth, and the past year and a half had added harshness to
his features and a hard, sinewy strength to his body.

Lady Anne might recognize him, of course. Despite the dim, flickering torches in the yard, he knew she had studied his features
carefully, as he had studied hers, and he did not want her to spoil his surprise at the wedding by blurting out the fact of
his presence. She would be concerned with her cousin and would have little time to peer about at the guests, but even so,
he would take care to avoid her until he decided exactly what, if anything, he meant to do.

If he let the wedding run its course, which he was still strongly inclined to do if only to eliminate what was presently only
a minor problem, he could walk away unseen and without fear that Lady Anne might confront him and take him to task.

That thought, however. brought another smile. Perhaps he would let her catch a glimpse of him,
after
the ceremony.

F
or several moments after Sir Christopher had ridden out of the yard and through the gateway, Anne stood where she was, still
stunned by his kiss and her reaction to it, and trying both to understand what demon had possessed her to make her slap him
and to make sense of his parting words to her.

To think of him as a man knighted, undoubtedly for bravery, by the King was hard. To think of him as plain Kit Chisholm, Border
reiver, was far easier. Not only did his behavior suit her notion of a reiver but also she knew that many bands of reivers
on both sides of the line included men of even the highest stations.

Armadale had not approved of such unseemly behavior amongst his peers, but some of the greatest and most powerful names in
the Borders—Scott of Buccleuch and Scott of Hardin, along with the heads of the Maxwell, Johnston, and Armstrong tribes—all
were known frequently to lead their own reiver bands. It was said that when a Scott wife thought her stores had fallen to
an unacceptable level, she uncovered a platter before her formidable husband, revealing a pair of spurs where the meat should
be, thus suggesting that it was time for another raid. Indeed, the motto of the Scotts of Buccleuch was “let there be moonlight,”
and other branches of their family and others boasted similar maxims.

She could not believe that she had struck Sir Christopher, great though the provocation had been. Her lips still burned, though,
and she had to exert self-control to keep from rubbing the sensation away. But she knew that the stable lads were watching
and knew, too, that their opinion of her behavior would doubtless reach Malcolm Vole’s ears before long and her aunt’s soon
after that. Moreover, she had enjoyed that kiss and the astonishing sensations it had stirred within her. Not that she could
admit that to anyone, she reminded herself firmly. Just thinking of what she had done by kissing the man who was still, despite
his denials, betrothed to her cousin sent heat into her cheeks.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she lifted the front of her skirt enough to keep it from touching the ground and turned
toward the house. As she had expected, several lads were watching. All but one looked hastily away, but that one stepped forward,
saying diffidently, “Beg pardon, me lady, but I thought ye’d want tae ken that the gelding’s fetlock be scarcely swollen.
Wi’ a day’s rest, he’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Teddy,” she said with a rueful smile. “It was through my own carelessness that he stepped in a rabbit hole, so
I am glad he is not badly hurt.”

“Aye, well, seein’ it were dark and all—”

“Not then,” Anne said “It happened in broad daylight, I’m ashamed to say. I had walked a good way before Sir … before someone
came along who was kind enough to help me.” Mentioning Sir Christopher’s name now, she realized, would only complicate matters
more.

“A good thing he come along,” Teddy said. His curiosity was plain, but Anne was certain he would not so far forget his place
as to demand her rescuer’s name. Peg Elliot would not be so reticent, however. Nor would Olivia. Before either event occurred,
she would have to decide how much or how little to tell them.

As she walked around to the front of the house with her usual brisk stride, she briefly savored a mental image of herself
walking into her aunt’s bower and announcing to Olivia and anyone with her that, contrary to what they believed, Sir Christopher
Chisholm, true Laird of Ashkirk, was alive and eager to reclaim what was his. Such an announcement so near Fiona’s wedding
day would eliminate any need to endure another scold, for in the uproar that followed, Olivia would certainly forget her irritation
over Anne’s solitary excursion. Even the information that Sir Christopher was disturbingly handsome and admirably large and
broad-shouldered would weigh little with her, although it might impress Fiona.

Anne wondered as she approached the entrance if Sir Christopher expected her to make such an announcement. He had not asked
her to keep silent, but neither had he expressed anything resembling delight at learning that Fiona, although betrothed to
his hateful uncle, had not yet married him.

Oil lamps on short posts lit the extensive garden paths, telling her that her aunt had entertained guests at supper, for they
did not waste the oil when the family supped alone. Anne took note of the detail subconsciously, while her thoughts remained
fixed upon her erstwhile protector.

She did not know much about Scottish law. Even so, it seemed odd to her that titles and estates, especially ones of so powerful
an entity as the Laird of Ashkirk and Torness, should change hands so quickly without positive proof of Sir Christopher’s
death—which Eustace Chisholm clearly had not been able to produce. How, she wondered as she entered the house, had he managed
it?