The Devil Wears Kilts (2 page)

Slowing to a walk to round the deadfall, he continued upstream. Down below where the river spilled out into the valley lay the village of An Soadh—his village, full of his cotters and herdsmen and pottery makers and shopkeepers. This morning he didn’t care to hear any of them praise his graces or bless his dear family or thank him for the invitation to Glengask Hall for the party on Friday.

A light mist hung in the tops of the trees this morning, the wan sunlight falling in visible streams to the mossy, sharp-edged rocks and low, weather-beaten shrubs tucked in between them. How in God’s name anyone could prefer soft, spoiled London to this, he had no idea. A deer darted out from behind a cluster of boulders and sprang up one of the narrow ravines toward the heather-blanketed moors above. The deerhounds roared and sprinted after her, and Ranulf reached for his rifle—then realized belatedly that he hadn’t brought it along. With a curse he whistled Fergus and Una back to his side.

Forgetting his rifle had been foolish. As solitary as the Highlands felt, as empty of people as most of the nooks and crannies were becoming, there were always places a fellow who meant no good could hide. For a moment he considered turning around and heading back to Glengask for a weapon, but today he was more likely to be ambushed by his sister at home than he was by any ill-wishers out in the wilderness.

Or so he thought. At the faint, moss-muffled sound of hoofbeats behind him, Ranulf edged Stirling into the trees. An attack in broad daylight in the middle of his own lands would be bold indeed, but he was the one who’d neglected to arm himself against such a thing. Bending, he pulled the long, narrow blade from the sheath in his boot. The damned turncoats would find that he wasn’t helpless. If they meant to spill his blood, he would see to it that they lost a quantity of theirs, as well. “Fergus, Una, guard,” he murmured, and the big deerhounds’ hackles rose.

“Ran! Ranulf!”

At the sound of his brother’s voice Ranulf lowered his shoulders. “Fergus, off. Una, off.” He kneed Stirling back onto the narrow trail. “Do ye not know the meaning of the word ‘alone’?” he asked.

“Ye didnae say ‘alone.’” It wasn’t just Munro, but Arran and Lachlan as well, trotting alongside the river in his direction. Munro, the youngest of them but for Rowena, tossed a rifle in his direction. “And ye know better than to go off unarmed,” he continued, frowning.

Ranulf caught the weapon in his free hand, and with the other twirled the blade he still held in his fingers before shoving it back into his boot. “I wasnae unarmed. And I’d wager Fergus or Una could run down a horse, if they wished it.”

“They couldnae outrun a musket ball.” Arran gestured at the knife hilt. “And that’ll do ye up close, but cowards rarely strike from close by.”

“It takes three of ye to deliver a gun, now?” True or not, he wasn’t going to let any of them chastise him. He was the damned eldest, and by four years. Arran wouldn’t see thirty for another three years—or at all, if he didn’t mind himself.

“I’m here because it’s safer than stayin’ in the house,” his heir apparent drawled back at him, unconcerned. He patted the sack strapped to the back of his saddle. “And I brought fishing tackle.”

“I came because I didnae want a saddle thrown at my head,” Munro, Bear to his family and friends, seconded with a grin. “She’s locked herself in her room, but who knows how long that’ll last?”

“And I wasn’t aboot to be left there alone with Winnie,” Lachlan put in.

“I dunnae know why not,” Arran countered. “Ye’re the one who said ye wouldnae dance with her, ye coward.”

“She’s a wee bairn. I’ve known her since her hair was too short fer pigtails. I dunnae know why she’s been acting so odd lately, but I want no part of it.”

“She’s acting odd because she fancies you, Lachlan,” Arran countered. “Though I dunnae know how Ranulf feels about that.”

“Neither do I,” Ranulf said, though that wasn’t entirely true.

Lachlan eyed him. “I feel like we should go fishing. And she only thinks she fancies me because I’m the only man close to her age you allow about her.”

That was likely true, but as Ranulf had several years ago decided that Lachlan would be a good match for Rowena, he hadn’t seen any reason to go parading her about. Instead of commenting on Lachlan’s statement, he gestured toward the waterfall and rise ahead. “Up to the loch, then, while she cools her temper.”

A full day of bringing in trout and perch, and especially of watching Munro slide backside first into Loch Shinaig, certainly improved Ranulf’s mood. He could only hope that a day spent with Mitchell, Rowena’s commiserating maid, would lighten his sister’s mood, as well. If she would only stop with her fanciful daydreams for a moment, she was bound to realize that she’d received some fine gifts from brothers and friends who doted on her, and that Friday would be the grandest party the Highlands had seen in decades.

It was nearly sunset by the time the lot of them handed their strings of fish over to Cooper as the butler pulled open the front door. “Lady Rowena?” Ranulf asked, shedding his caped greatcoat and stomping mud off his boots.

“Nary a sign of my lady,” Cooper returned, signaling for a footman to come and collect the makings of their supper. “Stewart Terney came to call on ye, m’laird, but said to never mind as ye’re to meet tomorrow down by the mill, and it could wait till then.”

Ranulf nodded. “My thanks.”

“Aye,” Bear put in. “If ye’d sent him up to the loch after us, that man’s dour face would’ve turned all the fish belly side up.”

“Enough of that, Munro.” Ranulf favored his brother with a brief frown. “Ye’d be sour-faced too, with only Glengask sending ye grain. In his grandfather’s time he had business from the Campbells and the Gerdenses and the Wallaces, in addition to us.” Hopefully he would be able to increase the quantity of wheat he sent to the mill, at least, depending on the fee agreement he could make with Terney and on the summer weather.

“Wait till Winnie catches the scent of baked trout,” Munro drawled, heading upstairs. “That’ll entice her.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “A game of darts, Lach?”

Once the other two men had gone, Arran turned and angled his chin at the butler. With a quick nod Cooper and two accompanying footmen disappeared into the bowels of the great house. Ranulf leaned back against the foyer wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “What?”

“Just that ye and I and Bear ’ave all been to England and returned undamaged.”

“’Tis nae the same,” Ranulf countered. “I, at the least, wasnae wide-eyed and expecting a fairy tale. And as I recall, ye had something of a run-in with a war.”

“I served, just as I was supposed to. Don’t evade the point, Ran.”

“What point was that?”

“Winnie’s got a bee in her bonnet, and telling her no isnae going to stop her wanting to go.”

“I’ll nae have it, Arran. If the Sasannach had their way, there’d be naught but sheep in all the Highlands, and our entire clan tossed into the wind with all the rest. All the English want is money. And control. I’m not giving my only sister over to them. She’s Scottish, and she’ll stay in Scotland. She has a husband waiting for her, once Lachlan comes to realize she’s nae a bairn any longer.”

“Unless Lach has a different lass in mind. But that’s beside the point, now. Rowena’s also half English,” Arran said quietly. “As are ye and Munro and I.”

“Not the half that matters,” he retorted, then took a breath. “I’m nae having this argument with her, or with ye, or with anyone else. She stays at Glengask. She’s safer here.”

Arran opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Ye might at least explain your reasoning to her, then.”

He’d done so, until he was out of breath, voice, and patience. “If she doesnae know why by now, she’ll simply have to accept my decision for what it is. She stays, and she’ll have a grand party she can sulk through if she wishes to.”

“Ah. Sounds grand, that.”

Ranulf sent his brother a sideways glance that had Arran taking a half step back. “She knows better than to push me,” he said. “I willnae discuss it with her again, and I’m nae wasting any more breath on it arguing with ye.”

“Aye, we all know better than to fight ye.” Arran turned for the door. “Think I’ll join Munro and go throw some wee pointy things at the wall.”

For a moment Ranulf considered joining his brothers and Lachlan, but odds were that the three of them were discussing whether a Season in London would be so bad for Rowena. They would be reminiscing about the handful of years they’d spent at Oxford, and their own infrequent trips down to Town. Arran, especially, would reflect that his four years spent in His Majesty’s Army hadn’t made him any less a Scot. They were all correct, and they were all wrong.

Rowena didn’t want a holiday in a faraway place. She’d read their mother’s journals, and she’d become enamored of a soft life of parties and lace gowns and men who spent as much time on their dress as any woman. She thought she wanted to be English.

She would grow out of it, of course, realize that a life of dull, idle distractions and snobbery wasn’t much of a life at all, but until then she would damned well stay at Glengask. Under his watchful eye. Under his protection. Whether she appreciated his efforts, or not. It was a simple equation, really. He was the Marquis of Glengask, the chief of Clan MacLawry and all its dependents, and whatever rules they might try to make in England, here his word was law.

He still should go down to one of the villages, as he did nearly every day, but he had little desire to do so. Instead he sent Cooper to have Mrs. Forrest, the cook, make an extra pan of baked fish for the morning. Father Dyce would make good use of the bounty for the poorest of the cotters below. All of which left him with an unexpected bit of the most rare of things: time. He’d seen most of his tasks done yesterday, so that he could devote the day to Rowena’s celebration. Scowling, Ranulf glanced in the direction of the stairs. Perhaps he’d spoiled her, but what was an older brother to do but see that his only sister and youngest sibling had everything she could ever desire?

“M’laird?”

Ranulf turned. “What is it, Cooper?”

The old Scot shuffled his feet. That in itself was odd; Cooper generally had a fierce pride about his station, and he’d been known to box the ears of footmen for the offense of slouching. “There’s … a bit of confusion over someaught.”

“What confusion?” Narrowing his eyes, Ranulf resisted the urge to order the butler to hurry it up. That would only rattle the fellow, and he’d never get out a sensible word.

“The … ah, Debny mentioned to Mrs. Forrest that they’d borrowed the phaeton, but since it was early she didn’t see fit to mention it to me, but now … well, it’s past sunset and there’s no … that is to say, the—”

“Who borrowed the phaeton?” Ranulf interrupted, realizing that if he didn’t direct a question they would never get to the end of the tale.

“Mitchell, m’laird. I presume fer Lady Winnie. A’course they do go out, but like I said, it’s getting late, and they’ve nae taken the dogs or any riders with them, and—”

Ranulf missed the last bit of the butler’s speech, as he was already halfway up the stairs, ice piercing his chest. “Arran!” he bellowed as he ran. “Munro!”

Rowena’s bedchamber looked as though a stiff north wind had blown through it. Clothes and bedding were strewn everywhere, bits of burned paper spilled out of the generous hearth, and the wide-open windows let the Highlands evening chill flow into the room. But at the same time …

“Ran! What th’devil is—”

“Christ. Did someone take her?” Arran stumbled in just behind Munro, Lachlan on their heels. “Damned Gerdenses. They’ll bleed for this!”

“Wait, Arran,” Ranulf ordered, squatting down to run his hand through the burned papers and shoving away the dogs when they crowded in, yipping nervously. He’d seen true chaos before, and this looked a mite too orderly. Old clothes thrown about, but nothing that she truly liked to wear. Bed unmade, but she hadn’t been in it for hours and hours. He lifted up one of the larger pieces. The words “lue shoes” were just visible, with something directly below that looked like “hairbrush.”

“What’ve you got, Ran?” Munro asked, crouching beside him. His brother’s jaw was tight, his fists clenched. There was a reason they’d nicknamed Munro the Bear, and it wasn’t because he enjoyed logical discussion. “We’re wasting time.”

“It’s a list,” Ranulf returned, straightening. “Or part of one. No one took her anywhere. She took herself, her and Mitchell. To London.”

“In the phaeton?” Cooper broke in.

“No doubt we’ll find it at the nearest coaching inn. That’s how they’ll travel.”

“To L— By herself?” Arran slammed a fist into a bedpost. “She’s daft.”

“What she is,” Ranulf returned slowly, digging out another piece of paper with a singed bit of address on it, “is in a great deal of trouble.”

Lachlan stirred. “Ye three get packed. I’ll have Debny saddle the horses.”

“Nae, Lachlan. Have Debny ready the heavy coach.” He looked up to see Cooper lurking in the doorway. “Cooper, have Peter and Owen pack their things. And send Mr. Cameron up here.”

“The coach?” Arran repeated as the butler hurried downstairs. “Ye’ll never catch up with a mail coach in that beast.”

“They have nearly ten hours head start, and a plan which no doubt includes a false identity,” Ranulf said, the deepening fury in his chest mixing with a fair amount of worry. “At least it had better.”

“What are ye talking aboot, Ran?”

“What I’m talking aboot, Bear, is that she’d best know by now that she has more to avoid than just us. And I’ll nae be seen by the Gerdenses and their lot screeching like a banshee as I race across the countryside. I’ll follow close enough to make certain no one stops her, and I’ll catch her up in London.” He glanced down at the half-burned scrap again. “At Hanover House, evidently. And then I’ll drag her arse back home.”

“And us? Ye expect us to sit on our hands?”

Ranulf looked over at Arran. “I do, indeed. Ye know that we need to have a MacLawry here at Glengask. And two sets of eyes’ll do ye both better. Word will get oot that I’ve gone. I dunnae want anyone to see that as an invitation to come and make trouble. Or that I’ve abandoned our people.”