The Beautiful Stranger (24 page)

Fortunately, he was able to ascertain from the only solicitor offices in town that Mr. Regis was expected within a matter of days. He sorely wished he might have known that earlier, as he had not been able to

shake the thoughts of Kerry that had plagued him from the moment he had walked into the mist of the half-shorn barley field and left her behind. It was worse nowthere was nothing to occupy him; he seemed to dwell on the image of Kerry lying naked in bed the morning he had left. To know that he might have stayed on watched her sleep

Lord God, but she was often on his mind during the lonely, uncomfortable hours he spent on the swayed back of the contrary mare, and his memory fared no better in Dundee.

At first, he tried to ease his mind by writing to friends and family. He wrote what seemed to be dozens of letters, each one detailing his experience thus far in Scotland a little better than the last. When he had exhausted his mental roster of everyone he would even remotely consider sending a letter, he took to wandering the narrow streets of Dundee. But the pungent scent of jute and flax from the textile factories mixed with the heavy odor of fish drove him back to the public inn du jour, where he grew increasingly restless and increasingly obsessed with the fair memory of Kerry.

He dreamed of her. Night after night it seemed, her image slowly and steadily overtaking Phillips in the nocturnal visage of his mind. Kerry laughing, Kerry walking, Kerry just being thereand always, always out of his reach.

Just like Phillip.

After a few days of that, Arthur determined he must absolutely have a diversion while he waited or else he might literally lose his feeble mind to those dreams.

So he took up golf.

He had seen the strange game played a time or two in England, but in Dundee, he noticed entire troops of people marching out to the country, the hardwood sticks they used to knock the ball about stuffed securely under their arm. One day, he saw three young boys, each carrying three such sticks. Having nothing better to do, Arthur followed them.

They led him to the top of a grassy hill, where he could see some sort of course, which he learned the Scots called links, had been laid out among the sand barriers and hills overlooking the Firth of Tay. One boy withdrew a small leather bag and placed it on the ground directly in front of him. Selecting one of three wooden clubs, he braced his skinny legs apart, put his head down, and swung the club at the ball.

All three boys stood in silent, rapt attention as the leather bag arched high into the sun before landing in the middle of a water hole. That earned a cry of disgust from the boy who had swung the club and a round of laughter from the other two.

When a second boy took the place of the first, they noticed Arthur standing a few yards behind them.

By the time the sun had set that afternoon, Arthur had swung the club one hundred and fourteen times.

The next morning, he paced impatiently, waiting for the lads to appear, hoping that the black-headed one had remembered to bring along the stick with the hickory shaft and applewood head that Arthur had determined he preferred, along with the leather ball they called a featherie.

After another day of following the lads about, Arthur bought the sticks from oneat an extravagant price, naturallybut managed to talk him out of two of the featheries, and struck out on his own. He discovered a peaceful, pretty course a half-days ride away, near Affleck Castle. And it was that course for which he struck out early every morning, then spent the better part of the day whacking away at the featherie,

waiting for Mr. Regis to show himself and trying not to think.

Unfortunately, not even striking the featherie tens of hundreds of times could put his mind to rest.

His dreams never fully left him when he awoke each morning and chased him through the course of the day, making him question everything he had ever known. There was Phillip, his nocturnal visitor, and the anger Arthur could not, after three years, quite seem to release. Particularly not the anger over this impossible venture why had Phillip invested so carelessly? It was ridiculous, just one more thing Arthur could add to Phillips list of transgressionsa bad investment mangled by incompetence, the ultimate price being Kerrys livelihood.

If Phillip hadnt done what he did, he never would have met Kerry and would never have been so bloody tormented by her memory.

Yes, but how could he blame Phillip when he was guilty of having looked away when he might have helped? What sort of man was he, then, if he could turn away when Phillip needed him most? Phillip, the one person in his life who had ever wanted Arthur to lead him, the one person who believed he could lead him. Oh, he had lead him, hadnt heright into his grave.

Arthur hated who he was, what he had become.

Would that he had become someone like Kerry.

Heaven help him, because he could not stop thinking about her or the exquisite sensation of her skin beneath his lips, her body beneath his, the warmth of her womb. He could not stop envisioning her walking across that barley field, her hand trailing along the top of the grass. Nor could he purge even simple memories of her talking gaily with May, her laughter running over them all like sunbeams, dancing to Red Donners fiddle, smiling through her daily visit to the old crone Winifred, or stripping the grain from the barley stalk. He had never known a woman like her, never admired a woman so. Of all the women of the ton whom he had courted or had courted his favor, he had never seen one who possessed a fraction of the natural beauty Kerry possessed.

Ironic, wasnt it, that she was so unattainable? Kerry hailed from the wrong country, the wrong social strata, the wrong breeding. He might as well set his sights on the fictional moon queen-Kerry was just as elusive.

And he hated the world for it, hated more the legacy of his birth. He envied the modest and uncomplicated life of Thomas, a hard-working man who had nothing to clutter his mind but the desire to travel and see the world. But Arthur was neither a Scot nor a farmer of any sort. He was the son and brother of one of the most powerful dukes in the realm, hailed from the highest reaches of society, had entry to the most sought-after homes in all the British Isles. He could not, under any circumstance, real or imagined, picture himself in Glenbaden.

And that angered him.

Angered him so that he struck with fury at the featherie, knocking the little leather ball farther and farther each day, while his aim seemed to stray farther and farther from the hole. He hardly cared.

He was just returning from his latest attempts on the course near Affleck Castle when the innkeeper of the Hawk and Thistle came outside to meet him. Arthur immediately assumed he wanted more money for stabling Thomas, which chafed him to no endhe could hardly abide to waste good coin on such a

worthless horse. But the innkeeper surprised him with news that Mr. Jamie Regis, Esquire, had left his card.

It was about goddamn time.

Arthur climbed down from Thomas and tossed the reins to a freckle-faced lad and anxiously snatched the card from the innkeeper. I dont suppose he left word where he may be reached? he snapped.

Aye, e did, milord, the innkeeper calmly responded, then turned and walked back inside without bothering to tell Arthur exactly where he might reach Regis. With a frown, Arthur flipped the card over.

There, in very neat script, was the name Broughty Inn.

Oh fine. He was to call on Mr. Regis at the Broughty Inn, as if he were the solicitor and Regis the client.

He whipped around, gestured impatiently for the reins to his mare, swung up on Thomass swayed back and rode out of the courtyard, happily reviewing exactly how he would strangle the stout solicitor.

It so happened that the stout solicitor was in no mood to suffer the dark mood of His High Almighty Self. Jamie had had a very rough journey from Fort Williams he was tired, he was hungry, and so overworked that he was beginning to feel as if he were sinking beneath the weight of it all. When he saw Lord Christian striding across the courtyardhis jaw tightly clenchedJamie groaned, rolled his eyes, and downed the last of his bitter ale. As Lord Christian burst into the tiny common room of the inn, Jamie pushed himself to his feet. But as the insufferable Sassenach stalked toward him, Jamie had to bite his tongue to keep a very derisive smile from his lipsthe flawless leather boots he had so admired not three weeks past were scarred beyond redemption. Lord Christian had, apparently, met with his own trials on Scottish soil, and for that, Jamie could not be happier.

His spirits much improved, he extended his hand. Milord, how do you do.

Christian barreled to a stop in front of him, looked at his hand, then frowned, unbelievably, even more darkly as he folded his arms tightly across his chest. He glared daggers at Jamie for a few moments, his jaw working frenetically before finally muttering tightly, Regis.

Jamie grinned and gestured to a chair across from him. Will you not sit? The Sassenach looked suspiciously at the chair, then at Jamie. Almost reluctantly, it seemed, he slowly lowered himself onto the chair as Jamie settled comfortably in his own. I apologize for the delay, milord. I was unavoidably detained in Fort Williams.

Christian shifted awkwardly in an apparent attempt to get his long legs under the table. Not only are you delayed, Mr. Regis, but you did not follow my explicit instructions I beg your pardon, I did indeed! Jamie quickly interrupted.

I beg your pardon! Do you mean to imply that you carried out my instructions to evict Mr. Fraser?

Christian asked, his chest filling with superior air.

Pompous ass. Perhaps not in the precise manner you dictated, but I certainly carried through with your instructions!

Clearly baffled, Christian leaned slowly forward, peering intently at Jamie as if seeing some wee spot between his eyes. Let us speak plainly, Regis. Did you or did you not call upon one Fraser McKinnon and inform him that

I didna call personally, I sent proper correspondence, Jamie interjected. I assure you, sir, it is an acceptable and effective form of communication in my occupation, and I think, in matters such as this, perhaps a better way of

The sudden and sharp sound of Christians palm slapping the table made Jamie jump in mid-sentence.

You did what? he breathed, his voice quivering with what Jamie instinctively knew was fury white-hot fury.

He nervously cleared his throat. I, ah, directed a letter to McKinnon informing him that I would be calling in a fortnight to discuss the particulars of his eviction and that Do you realize, Mr. Regis, that Fraser McKinnon is quite dead? Christian fairly shouted.

Now there was a new piece of information. McKinnon dead? A pity, that. The man had himself a bonny lass, indeed he did.

Had you bothered to look after Lord Rothembows investment, you might have known as much, Christian snapped.

That only put Jamies back up. Now see here, milord, youve no right to insult me! I have seen my business triple in the last two years, and I canna possibly be expected to hike up into some remote Highland glen to see if everyone is quite alive!

You certainly might have done so when no payment was made, sir!

Jamie did not appreciate the stab of guilt that brought him, and sat back, glowering. That is neither here nor there, A letter has been delivered on your behalf to McKinnons survivors, and I daresay they are quite capable of understanding the gravity of the situation His voice trailed off; Jamie actually forgot what he was about to say because the transformation in Christians countenance was nothing short of remarkable. The color seemed to bleed from his face; he gaped at Jamie, his gaze sharp enough to bore a hole clean through him, but Jamie had the distinct impression that Christian wasnt seeing him at all.

Dear God, he muttered. DEAR GOD! he bellowed and suddenly surged to his feet, disappearing through the door before Jamie could stand.

Jamie thought to go after him and tell him that he had prepared the necessary documents and had them delivered to the Bank of Scotland, but it was too late Christian had already disappeared into the crowded street.

While Jamie Regis was trying to sort out the confusing behavior of the Englishman, Thomas McKinnon was seeing to it that the belongings of the last pair to leave Glenbaden were securely fastened onto the old wagon that would carry them to Loch Eigg.

Aye, but this was a colossal mess Fraser had left for them, the bloody fool.

As he tightened the rope around a piece of luggage, Thomas watched Kerry walking slowly through the shorn barley field. He would curse Fraser to his dying day for putting this on her, but he could not help marveling at how she had shouldered the burden of her husbands deception for so long. Admired her, aye, but he was also angry with her for having kept it to herself. What had made the lass believe she

could generate five thousand pounds to save them all? The whole of what was standing in Glenbaden wasnt worth that much!

Evicted.

The word sounded harsh to his ears.

Harsh, but it had only been a matter of time before it was bound to have happened. Thomas turned his attention to the wagon again. It had happened in every glen and valley in these Highlands, and there was certainly naught about Glenbaden that would separate it from the rest of them. For a score of years, good, decent, hard-working Scots had been pushed out by landlords in favor of the Blackface and Cheviot sheep across the Highlands. The sheep needed a lot of room to graze, needed so much land that it was, by the very essence of it, a rich mans venture. Truthfully, the sheep seemed to suit the Highlands far better than the beeves, and sheep-farming was, for the barons, the most efficient means for making a profit. Which meant that the Scots who had lived and farmed in the same glens and valleys for centuries were in the way.

No matter how he tried to tell her that Moncrieffe was doing the same to them, Kerry would not accept it. The lass believed she was responsible for this mess, but God above, it was Fraser and his dealings with Moncrieffe who had brought them to this end. The land, the white house, all of its furnishings, the stables, and barnall of it would go to pay the debt to Moncrieffe and the Bank of Scotland. The only thing Kerry and Thomas were determined to keep were the twelve beeves Fraser had bought before he diedthey were the only thing of value left to them.