Beguiled (5 page)

Edward rose. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Good afternoon to you, Lord Edward.”

She offered her hand. Agnes remembered the times years ago that the four sisters had practiced that graceful gesture.

“Will you join us?” Edward asked. “Lady Agnes was just explaining to me the MacKenzie way of scolding.”

“Nay, she was not,” Lottie said. “Agnes doesn't know you well enough. But I trust that she will?” Lottie sent Agnes a saucy wink, which meant she approved of the earl of Cathcart. “I must decline your invitation. But I felt compelled to tell you how delighted I am that you and my sister have become acquainted.”

Agnes almost huffed in disbelief, but all things considered, Lottie was putting her best foot forward. Then she spoiled it by staring pointedly at Agnes's bound-up arm and saying, “How are you today, Lady Fearless?”

“At peace, Countess, for I mind my own business. A practice foreign to you.”

Lottie arched one brow and her expression turned

cool. It was a look that sent servants and family alike scurrying for safety. All except Agnes.

Turning that haughty gaze to Lord Edward, Lottie said, “Will you and your children take tea with me today, my lord? My children would like to say goodbye to yours.”

Lottie was up to mischief, of that Agnes was certain.

“Why thank you, Lady Lottie,” said the earl.

“Good,” she said with finality. “And should you wish to know the tiniest thing about Agnes, I'll gladly provide it.”

Agnes laughed; she was impervious to Lottie's meddling ways. “I haven't had a secret since the day you learned to speak—none of us have. Now off with you.”

Lottie glided from the table and left the inn.

“You have an interesting family.”

“You are too kind, my lord.”

“You still haven't explained what you meant when you said that your father was going to scold Lady Juliet.”

“When I know you better.”

*  *  *

When next Edward saw the duke of Ross, both the situation and the mood were very different.

The men stood eye to eye in the entryway of the house his daughter Sarah had vacated for her honeymoon. To say the duke of Ross was unhappy was a monumental understatement. Tall and broad, Lachlan MacKenzie was handsome in that rugged Highland way.

“Your Grace,” Edward greeted him. “How is Lady Juliet?”

“Upstairs, troubled over Agnes's leaving. You will not change your mind?”

Rather than answer, Edward thought it best to toss the question back to the duke of Ross. “Only if you are able to change her mind.”

“She is my firstborn and long out of the nursery. Even at three and twenty, she carries a guilt so great 'twould bring ten soldiers to their knees. My poor, dear Agnes.”

“Did I hear my name?”

She glided into the room, the very vision of Highland womanhood. Over a gown of forest green linen she wore a MacKenzie plaid, draped shawl-like, with one end tossed over her injured shoulder. Wearing it that way concealed her arm, which was bound securely in the sling.

“Aye, lassie,” said her father, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. “I was telling Napier that you can bother a man to madness.”

She faced her father squarely. “You'll not lay the blame on me for your ill humor this mom'.”

As he watched Lachlan MacKenzie gaze down at his daughter, Edward could see into the man's soul. There he found fatherly love in all its painful glory. He knew the feeling well, experienced it every time he looked at Hannah and Christopher.

Sympathy for the duke made Edward say, “I think you should reconsider your decision, Lady Agnes.”

She caught his gaze. “Are you reconsidering your offer?”

He didn't try to hide his reservations.

“I see,” she said. “Must I remind you that there is a compelling reason for you to keep your word?”

“ 'Twould seem I must be reminded.”

In a manner more direct than any woman he'd ever seen, she said. “You owe me your life.”

The duke cursed. Edward wanted to. Instead, he did the only thing he could. He nodded in agreement.

Lady Agnes lifted her chin and faced her father. “If we part badly, 'twill be your doing.”

“Go with Juliet to Tain, or come with me to London,” said the duke.

Her brown eyes brimmed with regret. “You know I cannot. Mary needs you. I can take care of myself.”

“So you say.”

“Hug me, Papa.”

His shoulders sagged, and he held out his arms.

She rushed into his embrace. “I love you.”

“Oh, lassie mine. I love you more than spring.”

“Sarah is spring to you. I have always been the fall.”

The duke of Ross squeezed his eyes shut and drew in a ragged breath. “If you harm yourself while in Napier's service, I'll marry you to Auntie Loo's father. You'll never again clap eyes on another Christian soul.”

“Oh, Papa, the emperor thinks I'm bad luck. He will not have me, and you know it well.”

The emperor of China? Taken aback, Edward could but stare at these unusual people.

With a last, fierce hug that surely must have hurt her shoulder, Lord Lachlan turned her around so they both faced Edward. If she felt any discomfort, she hid it well.

A warning glittered in the duke's eyes. “Dishonor her, Napier, and I'll save your enemy the trouble of killing you. And you,” he said down to her, “I expect you to write to me every Saturday. I'll send a messenger to collect your letter. I shall be in London with Mary. Should you neglect your duty to your family, I'll come to Glasgow to find out why. Do not use that injury as an excuse. Your penmanship is as poor with either hand.”

She grimaced in mock outrage. “I'm wounded.”

His look was pointed, challenging. “Aye, Agnes MacKenzie. You've hurt yourself for the last time.”

Undaunted, she touched his cheek. “Farewell, Papa.”

The duke again turned his stern gaze on Edward. “Trust her with the safety of your children, Napier, and follow her advice. She is clever in ways you cannot imagine, and she is wise beyond her years.”

*  *  *

By the time the carriage stopped for the night in the village of Whitburn, Agnes would have argued that point. She felt as if she'd been run over by a carriage rather than conveyed in one. Hannah had stretched out in the seat beside her and fallen asleep, her head on Agnes's lap. Since her right arm was useless, Agnes had strapped her knife to her left thigh. Because of Hannah's added weight pressing on the weapon, Agnes's leg tingled with numbness.

Lord Edward had donned a cape and plumed bonnet and chosen to ride his own mount for the duration of the journey. A pair of heavily armed outriders had led the way out of Edinburgh; a second pair of escorts, equally armed, brought up the rear. When they'd passed through the west gate and entered the farmlands, the earl had relented and taken Christopher on the horse with him. Unfailingly fair, as only a good father can be, he'd also given Hannah a turn.

In the facing seat, Auntie Loo was answering another of Christopher's queries about her culture. This one involved the wrapping of noblewomen's feet.

“But your feet are average,” the boy said. “And your father is the emperor.”

“My mother would not allow it.”

The driver, a young Glaswegian named Jamie, yelled, “Whitburn ahead.”

He might have announced their arrival at the pearly gates, so eager was Agnes to rest.

Hannah stirred.

“I'll carry her,” said Auntie Loo as she reached for the girl.

A post horn hung below the inn's symbolic sign bearing a badger and a bird. Smoke streamed from a nearby smithy, and merchants' stalls and clerks' benches dotted the main thoroughfare.

Jamie opened the door, and Christopher hopped out. The earl reached in to hand Auntie Loo down. As Agnes stepped from the carriage, her left leg buckled. Edward caught her. “Have you torn those stitches?”

“Nay, my leg's gone wickety from sitting for so long.”

“Shall I carry you?”

“No!”

He started at her sharp denial. “No?”

“I meant to say, thank you, but 'tis a minor discomfort.” She stomped her foot. “I'm getting better as we speak.”

“I'll have the innkeeper send you a hot towel. Put it directly on your shoulder and leave it there until it cools.”

“I'll be asleep by then.”

“Then I'll awaken you, for I intend to have a look at those stitches.”

“F
ATHER, DID YOU KNOW THAT
Lady Agnes has a collection of knives?”

Edward fluffed the pillow on the narrow bed his son would occupy. The only accommodations at the inn acceptable to Lady Agnes had been a spacious upstairs suite with a parlor in the center and two bedchambers on each side. He smiled at both the memory of her reasons behind choosing the accommodations and this latest bit of information about her penchant for sharp objects.

“No, I did not know, but let us hope she never gets angry with us.”

“Oh, Father,” the boy chided in exasperation. “ 'Tis a hobby, like collecting fast horses or country estates, but more manageable.”

The explanation was too adult, too proudly said. “Did she tell you that?”

“Aye, 'tis the MacKenzie in her. She has a score 'n' more of blades, but none of them like your palm knife.” Christopher buttoned his sleeping gown and sat on the edge of the bed. “I told her 'twas your invention and there's none to be had but yours and mine.” He frowned, looking very much like portraits of Edward as a child. “I wish I had brought it with me.”

“There's time enough to show her your knife when we get home.”

“She has a castle full of sisters and one brother. He'll be a duke when he grows up.”

“I hope you were polite to her today.”

He blinked in surprised innocence. “Ever so, Father, and Hannah, too. We must be mindful of the family reputation.”

Hearing his own words recited earnestly made Edward proud. He ruffled his son's already mussed hair. “Good. Now say your prayers and go to sleep.”

Christopher knelt beside the bed and steepled his hands. Edward started for the door.

“Father, why is Lady Agnes coming to live with us? Will she be our nanny?”

An answer eluded Edward. Describing Agnes MacKenzie defied conventional explanations. She had been exhausted when they arrived in Whitburn, but she had rallied long enough to interview the innkeeper and select rooms “that suited their purposes” as she phrased it. Like a general on campaign, she had taken control of the situation and seen to the needs of everyone in their traveling party.

Added to that, Edward was intrigued on a more basic level. Agnes MacKenzie was the embodiment of every man's dream.

“Will she, Father? She'll be the bonniest of nannies.”

Bonny. An understatement only a child would utter, for Agnes MacKenzie could make an archbishop ponder his vows. But there was more to her than physical beauty; she possessed strength of character, and she demanded respect. The acquiescence of the mighty Lachlan MacKenzie stood as proof of that.

“What's wrong, Father?”

You owe me your life.

The truth of that declaration worried Edward more than the presence of the woman herself bedeviled his scruples. What if she were hurt again in his defense? He banished the morbid thought and extinguished the lamp. “Nothing, son. Lady Agnes will be our guest”

Christopher began his prayers, but stopped. “Father?” Poignancy crept into his youthful voice. “Did you and Mother ever come to Whitburn?”

Edward knew where his son was headed. Christopher understood that his mother was in heaven. After his nightly prayers to God, the lad always spoke to his mother. For some strange reason, he thought his mother could hear him only if he were physically in a place where she had been.

Edward was relieved to say, “Aye, we stopped here every time we traveled to Edinburgh.”

“Good, for I've much to say to her tonight.”

The old loneliness filled Edward, for he had loved his wife deeply. She and her older sister had died of a shipboard illness after a visit to her family in Boston. Only half a dozen of the crew had survived. The dead had been buried at sea. Hannah had been one year old at the time. Edward had insisted that Elise leave their new daughter with him and Christopher in Glasgow, not for any possessive reasons; Edward had simply thought that Elise deserved a holiday from the cares of motherhood.

Time had healed the wound and eased the guilt, but the troubles of late had started him to thinking about the past.

“Are you sad, Father?”

Edward masked his concern. “Not at all. Sleep well.”

As Edward pulled the door closed and entered his own sleeping chamber, he said a silent prayer, asking God to watch over everyone in the growing Napier household. Things would be better at home in Glasgow; he wouldn't need to be constantly on alert for assassins.

Why had someone tried to kill him? He hadn't the faintest notion. But like a great shadow of doom, the truth of the matter hovered around him.

Someone wanted him dead, and it frightened him to his soul.

Mindful of his duty to examine his new patient, he went into the private parlor that separated the four sleeping chambers. The room was empty. The sound of feminine voices drifted from Agnes's adjoining bedchamber. The door stood ajar, and yellow lamplight poured through the opening. Agnes was telling a story to Hannah, who should have been asleep. Edward had sent the child to bed with the retiring Auntie Loo over an hour ago.

Hannah's trilling laughter brightened his mood. Other than hired nannies and an occasional indulgent moment from a visiting noblewoman in Glasgow, his daughter had not often enjoyed female companionship. Loath to interrupt them, he slowed his pace and dawdled in the parlor.