Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (31 page)

“So now I'm keeping ye from making a house of yer own.”

And he was keeping her for himself, keeping her away from other people—even if that happened to be precisely the opposite of what she needed. “What if ye put up yer hair and I bring ye one of my big, floppy hats? Ye'd have to keep some distance, maybe stay up on the roof with me and toss doon the rubble, but—”

“Everyone knows everyone here,” she broke in, her brow furrowing. “Every villager would know I'm nae from here.”

“Then ye're from the south. It's up to ye, lass.” And up to how concerned she was that Torriden was about—at least until Munro could be rid of him. Which would be by nightfall, if he could manage it.

She looked from her new door to the patched hole in the ceiling. “I'd like to consider it, if it's up to me.”

“I said it was.” Resisting the urge to shake her, to order her to believe him when he said she was safe, he settled for rolling his shoulders. “I came in a bit of a hurry today,” he said. “I didnae stop by the village fer the supplies I ordered.”

“I did bring the eggs ye told me to fetch,” Peter commented.

“We cannae use eggs fer mortar,” Munro retorted. Unused to being this … frustrated, he headed for the door. Catriona's stubbornness, her refusal to believe that someone else might be at least as concerned with her well-being as with his own—he couldn't punch that, and he couldn't bellow at it or tromp over it. It would take patience and finesse, and those were muscles of his that would require some stretching. “If the two of ye will start clearing the old back garden so we'll have room to pile the timber and stones we want to keep, I'll head into the village fer the lumber I ordered, and see if I can figure oot how to contact an architect.”

Damnation, this had been a long day already. And he still needed to decipher how to remove Lord Torriden from Glengask. Once he'd dealt with that, then perhaps Cat would allow him to start introducing her to clan MacLawry, beginning with the village workers. Wee, careful steps. He could take wee, careful steps, if the dance concluded with Catriona MacColl in his arms.

“Bear!”

He wheeled Saturn around as Cat ran out of the abbey. “Aye, lass?”

She stopped beside him, grabbing one of his boots in her fingers. “Aye.”

The immediate hammering of his heart seemed to be all out of proportion with hearing one simple word. But he knew what he'd been thinking, and that word played a very large part in it. He hadn't asked her yet, though—and in fact, he had no idea which question she might be answering. “I need a few more words than that, wildcat.”

A quick, uncertain grin touched her mouth. “Aye, I'll pretend to be some odd lad ye brought in to help ye demolish Haldane. I'll nae stay in the kitchen while ye're getting sweaty and taking yer shirt off.”

She'd taken a step toward him. Toward trust. Munro leaned out of the saddle and caught her mouth against his. “I'll bring ye a hat and someaught shabbier to wear, then.”

Keeping hold of his boot, Cat gazed up at him, her smile softer and even more compelling now. “I owe Elizabeth an explanation, if ye can convince her to come by with ye.”

He nodded. “I'll see to it. And dunnae ye fret, lass; I'll see to it that Torriden doesnae come anywhere around ye.” Pretty Charles Beaton had best stay well away from Haldane Abbey and Cat. If the man wanted to keep breathing, anyway.

*   *   *

“And just between us, lass, withoot Lord Torriden in earshot, ye've nae seen yer sister lately?” Ranulf asked, keeping his tone curious rather than threatening. The lass would likely break down in tears or faint if he did so much as frown.

Elizabeth shook her head, her gaze on the cup of tea in her hands. “I wish I could help,” she returned. “As I said, Cat and I corresponded occasionally, but I didn't have any idea she was betrothed, or anything else.”

“So ye didnae come north to find her?”

“I only wanted to leave England and the Duke of Visford's reach. I didn't consider much beyond that, I'm afraid.” She glanced up, then back at the tea again. “I'm very lucky Bear found me when he did.”

“Aye. Winter's nearly here, and the Highlands isnae a place fer a lass to be on her own when the snows come. Especially an English-raised lass.”

He watched her expression carefully, noting the tightening of her mouth and the slight shake of her fingers around the cup. She could be lying; under other circumstances he would have been convinced of it. But she could also be a lass worried over her sister's disappearance, and as ignorant as she claimed.

“And thank you again for taking me in,” she said, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. “You had no reason to do so, and I'm very grateful that you did.”

“We had reason,” he returned, noting honey-haired Charlotte's arrival in the morning room doorway. “Ye'll be part of the family soon. And the MacLawrys always look after their own.”

Her cheeks darkened, and she abruptly set down the teacup. “Oh. Yes, of course. I … Thank you.”

“Ranulf, I don't mean to interrupt, but Sir Alpin Peterkin is here to see you or Bear,” Charlotte said, brushing her fingers against his arm as she walked past him to sit beside Elizabeth MacColl.

Just her touch made goose bumps lift on his arms. “Bear's nae back, I assume?”

She shook her head. “And Lord Torriden's playing billiards with Arran and Lachlan.”

Elizabeth looked up again. “I enjoy watching billiards. Do you think I might join them without making myself a bother?”

“Certainly,” Charlotte answered, motioning Ranulf to leave the room. “Finish your tea, and we'll go upstairs.”

So his wife thought she might have more success in discovering whether Elizabeth was telling the truth or not. Very well; Charlotte knew London and its social intricacies much better than he did, and she was certainly kinder and more gentle.

Under most circumstances he wouldn't care about one of the MacDonalds losing a potential bride and failing to reunite the two less-than-friendly sides of that clan. But Elizabeth was here, and that had brought the trouble to his doorstep. And so he needed to know whether he should be concerned or not. He'd stated to all and sundry that she was under the protection of the MacLawrys. If she was lying, that reflected on him. And
he
didn't want to be responsible for any MacDonald troubles. Especially ones that didn't have anything to do with him.

Sir Alpin Peterkin stood in the foyer, his hat literally in his hands. Generally the only dealings with the Peterkin family were Bear's, and Ranulf could only hope that one or the other of Peterkin's daughters hadn't announced that she was pregnant. God, what a mess that would be, especially with a marriage to Elizabeth all but done. “Alpin,” he said, offering his hand. “It's good to see ye up here. What might I do fer ye?”

The older man shook hands, shifting his proper beaver hat to his left hand to do so. “I've someaught, um, delicate to discuss with ye or Laird Bear.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I'm relieved it's ye, actually, m'laird.”

With the morning room occupied, Ranulf led the way to the library upstairs. He'd discovered some time ago that meeting people in his office tended to unnerve them. “How is Lady Peterkin?” he asked, as they climbed the stairs. “Mrs. Forrest heard from someone in An Soadh that she's been in bed with the fever.”

“Oh, she's recovered now, m'laird. Thank ye fer asking.” He stopped inside the library door. “Might I close this?”

Hm.
That didn't bode well. “Certainly. Might I get ye a glass of someaught?”

“No, thank ye. I ken ye're a busy man, so I'll get right to it.” Sir Alpin shut the door and seemed to feel it necessary to remain close by the exit, which didn't leave Ranulf feeling any better about what might be coming.

Bloody hell
. He'd told his brothers over and over again to be careful. And while he wouldn't have argued against Bear marrying either Bethia or Flora Peterkin, the lasses didn't have a sackful of brains between them. Which, come to think of it, he'd considered to be Bear's sort of lass. Elizabeth MacColl seemed far too dainty, but perhaps that had been her appeal; she wasn't like most other lasses in the Highlands.

“I'm listening,” he prompted, when despite his stated eagerness to talk, Sir Alpin continued to stand there, grimacing.

“Oh. Aye. Um. Well, I ken that ye're aware that yer brother, Lord Munro, has … been after my Bethia. For two years, now. She's a flighty lass, Bethia. Her sister, too.”

Ranulf put his hands behind his back so he could clench his fists without frightening the man. He and Bear were going to have to have a discussion now, whether his brother was determined to avoid one or not. It would be wise to have Lachlan and Arran remain close by, as well, because if it came to a fight he could use the assistance. And Bear might listen to Lach, even if he wouldn't pay heed to his older brothers.

“Um, well, it seems that withoot bothering to tell me, her own papa, Bethia has gone and promised herself to young Sorley Landers.”

Ranulf blinked. “Sholto Landers's son? The physician?”

“Aye. That's him. She has her heart set on him, and doesnae care aboot his profession.” He sighed heavily. “I had my own heart set on Laird Bear, but I cannae tell that lass what to do. I did think it my duty to tell Laird Bear myself, but if he's nae aboot, then—”

“I'll tell him,” Ranulf interrupted, hoping his keen relief didn't show on his face. Bear had gone far past pursuing both Bethia and her twin sister, Flora, but if one of them had found someone else he didn't think his brother would be overly troubled. Not with an almost-fiancée under his roof.

“Thank ye, Laird Glengask. That is one conversation I didnae care to be present fer. Do tell yer brother, though, that Flora isnae spoken fer. And she and Bethia—well, they
are
twins.”

“I appreciate ye informing me,” Ranulf returned, moving to open the door again. “And be certain ye let us know the date. We'd be pleased to help ye with the wedding feast.”

Now Sir Alpin was beaming. “That's very kind of ye, Glengask. Very kind.”

Well, that was one problem avoided. Now he needed to gently steer Lord Torriden away—perhaps all the way to the Isle of Islay or back to Sutherland—to minimize the MacDonald presence here, and then get Munro to propose and set a date for the wedding. And then, by God, when all of his siblings were happily married and had finished with scandals and beginning clan wars, perhaps he could sit back and … relax. At least until their bairns grew old enough to make things interesting again. With a slight grin he went to go rescue his wife from proper chats and tea.

Halfway to the door, though, he stopped. Munro had practically eaten Lord Torriden alive on sight, but he hadn't had any additional objection when the viscount had seated himself beside Elizabeth. And Elizabeth, who seemed to be fascinated with her clan, hadn't gone to her clan when she'd fled London. In fact, she couldn't have put much more distance between herself and her clan and still be in the Highlands.

Why go to the Highlands at all if she didn't have any intention of seeking out the MacDonalds? In addition, how did a young lass who hadn't seen Scotland since her eighth year survive in the Highlands for a month, by herself, and still manage to be clean, well fed, and wearing a proper set of shoes and a blemish-free walking dress?

With a curse Ranulf turned around again. “Owen!” he bellowed, striding back down the stairs to the foyer. “Find me my damned brother!”

The footman skidded into view. “Which brother, m'laird?”

“Bear.” Of course, Bear.

*   *   *

“What would ye be doing right now if Bear hadnae dragged ye out here to stack bricks?” Catriona asked, digging a shovel into the cold ground and loosening up the pile of stones that had settled into the old garden.

“Now?” Peter Gilling returned, straightening from the pile of lumber in front of him. “More than likely I'd be putting wee silver utensils on the proper dining table and pouring wine into a decanter. Glengask has guests, so then I'd have to polish up the candelabras and put on my gloves to serve the dinner.”

“Do ye like it?”

“I like being at Glengask. After old Glengask died, young Ranulf found himself a few lads from the clan who'd served in the army and who knew their way around weapons. He hired me and Debny and Owen and Cooper and a half-dozen others to serve in the hoose. Mostly, though, he brought us in to watch over his sister and brothers.”

“The old Glengask was killed, aye? There were rumors of that, anyway.”

“Aye. And the new Glengask swore it wouldnae happen again. We work hard, we play hard, and we're treated fair. Better than fair. I'd give my life fer any MacLawry, and I'm honored to help protect them.” He grinned, wiping his forehead. “I may nae fold the napkins just right, and I ken I talk a bit straighter to my betters than I should, but then the MacLawrys arenae like any other family ye're likely to meet.”

And hopefully her cowardice hadn't driven the youngest MacLawry brother so far away he wouldn't return. She jabbed the shovel into the dirt. In her perfect world—or at least the one she'd imagined a few weeks ago—she lived alone and safe at Haldane Abbey, with the world far away from her. More recently her imaginings had begun to include Bear, at first coming by to chat with her, but now visiting her at least once every day and staying all day long.

Even that, though, wasn't enough. It couldn't be enough. She couldn't be a hermit who allowed only one other person into her life. By doing that, she would be limiting both herself and Munro. And so she would try, until she either convinced herself she could be social and not do something idiotic, or until Bear realized he'd fallen in love with the worst woman possible and did walk away for good.