Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (11 page)

Poor girl
,
guarded by an old dragon,
Killian thought, but out loud he made the usual polite noises. Mrs Forbes was tiny, but looked decidedly pugnacious with sharp eyes and a jutting chin. Her grey hair was pulled into a hairstyle as severe as her expression. He wondered if her presence had anything to do with the love affair and the young nobleman the landlord had spoken of. Had the young lady perhaps been a little reckless? Another interesting thought.

‘
Middagen är serverad, Herr Fergusson.
’

The maid had returned to announce supper, and the company went through to another equally plain room which was linked to the parlour by an archway. Killian was seated on the right hand side of his hostess. Miss van Sandt was opposite and her companion next to him. He did his duty and made small talk with both the older ladies while the first course was served, then turned to his host.

‘What made you come to Sweden, of all places, Mr Fergusson?’ he enquired.

‘Well, Scotland was a dismal place after the ’15, especially for anyone suspected of sympathising with the Jacobites. I thought it wise to go abroad for a while. A friend of mine told me there were great opportunities in Gothenburg for anyone with experience of trade, so I made my way here.’

‘And were there?’ Killian asked.

‘Oh, yes. At that time, exports of timber and iron ore were on the up, so business was booming. I quickly became a partner in the firm of my wife’s late husband, who had been here longer, and I was therefore in a position to invest my money wisely. When he sadly passed away five years ago, I took over the running of the company.’

And his wife
, Killian added to himself. He wondered how Fergusson had bamboozled the recently-widowed lady into marrying him so quickly. She seemed meek and biddable, so perhaps it hadn’t been such a difficult task. She also threw her husband adoring glances from time to time, proving the match had been one of love, at least on her part. Killian saw Miss van Sandt glare at her stepfather, looking as if she wanted to say something even though she remained silent. He felt sure the daughter had been less easy to convince. She obviously still harboured some resentment.

‘I see,’ was all he said, not wanting to stir up any quarrels, but then decided to probe just a little further. ‘I take it Miss van Sandt had no brothers to take their father’s place?’

‘No.’ Fergusson’s answer was curt and he glanced at his stepdaughter. ‘And naturally a girl can’t have anything to do with running a business, no matter how capable she may think herself.’

‘Of course not,’ Killian said and earned himself a scowl from the young lady. Another interesting tit-bit. So she had thought herself her father’s successor? Killian wondered why. Fergusson was right, girls didn’t normally have anything to do with such things. He would have to find out further details. ‘Do please tell me more about the sort of goods you trade in,’ he added to divert Fergusson’s attention from a subject which seemed contentious in this household.

He listened with half an ear to Fergusson’s rather boring account of his various business interests, while keeping an eye on the young lady opposite. She concentrated on the food in front of her, but he noticed she didn’t actually eat much, just pushed it around on her plate. He tried to attract her attention, but she didn’t look up once, a novel experience for him. Usually any young lady in his vicinity would have her eyes glued to him. Not this one.

He should have been grateful, since he’d already decided she was out of bounds, but some perverse streak made him want her to notice him. Throwing caution to the wind, he stretched out his legs under the table, which wasn’t very wide, and allowed his feet to accidentally brush her skirts. This provoked an instant reaction. She raised her eyes and shot silver daggers at him, which he found infinitely preferable to being ignored. With an inward smile, he wondered if she’d always had a hasty temper, or if it was provoked by her stepfather’s arrival on the scene. Either way, she was easy to tease in her current state. Like a powder keg ready to blow up at the slightest sign of fire.

‘And why have you come to Sweden, Mr Kinross?’ She interrupted her stepfather in mid flow, and Fergusson frowned at her rudeness.

‘Really, Jessamijn, where are your manners?’

Killian was tempted to laugh, but kept a straight face. He knew, of course, that Fergusson was objecting to being cut off, not the abruptness of the question. He pretended it was the latter. ‘I don’t mind answering Miss van Sandt. It’s a reasonable query after all.’ He smiled at her, but her expression remained stony. ‘My grandfather sent me over here because he thought I should learn something useful. Perhaps find a way to fill the family coffers before I take over as laird.’

‘You’re going to be a laird?’ Her disdain was clear and Killian’s good humour evaporated.

‘Yes. You find that hard to believe?’ He stared her straight in the eyes and she had the grace to look ashamed.

‘No, I mean, it was just … you seem too young for such a role.’

‘No doubt Grandfather will live a good many years yet. He’s as tough as old boots, as I’m sure you can attest, Mr Fergusson.’

‘That he is. Never knew a man in better health.’

The conversation turned to other things and Killian decided to leave Miss van Sandt alone for now. He didn’t want to cause any further friction between her and her stepfather until he knew more about the situation. It seemed wiser to observe and concentrate on his food.

He had been surprised, when they sat down earlier, that all the food was carried in and left on the table. They had to help themselves, passing the dishes from person to person. Although there were plenty of servants, it didn’t appear to be their job to actually serve, which seemed rather odd to him. He reflected that he obviously had a lot to learn about Swedish customs.

The fare was plain, just like at the inn, and somewhat stodgy. Cabbage soup with some sort of meatballs floating in it came first. This was followed by a choice of fatty roast mutton, fillet of veal with mushroom gravy, and black pudding with something that looked like miniature cranberries. ‘What are these?’ he asked, curious to know everything about this country now he was here.

‘
Lingon
berries. They’re a bit sharp, but make a nice contrast to the sweet taste of the black pudding. It’s made from pig’s blood, as I’m sure you know. A bit different from the Scottish variety, but not bad.’

Mrs Fergusson looked alarmed at her husband’s words, as if she was afraid that Killian would refuse to eat the food if he was told what it consisted of. Killian smiled at her to reassure her this wasn’t the case. He was neither squeamish nor a fussy eater. He tried everything, found that he enjoyed it all and ate with relish.

‘I like it. In fact, it is all delicious, Ma’am,’ he said to Katrijna, who smiled back at the compliment. She was a difficult woman to talk to, since she often stopped in the middle of a sentence to listen to muffled sounds coming from upstairs, her pale gaze clouding over. When he finally hit on the idea of asking her about her younger children, however, she suddenly became very talkative indeed. So much so, that Fergusson interrupted her in the end with a mild reproach.

‘I’m sure young Kinross, who doesn’t yet have children of his own, has heard enough tales of our two little scoundrels, my dear. Won’t you ask for dessert to be brought in?’

‘Oh, yes of course, do forgive me.’ Katrijna became flustered and withdrawn once more and Killian felt sorry for her. At the same time he was grateful for the intervention. One more tale of little Ramsay’s precociousness or tiny James’s attempts at walking would have made him run screaming for the door. Babies and toddlers didn’t interest him at all.

Dessert turned out to be apple pie served with thick whipped cream, and Killian enjoyed this dish so much he had a second helping. Miss van Sandt frowned at him from across the table, where she had continued to pick her way through the food put in front of her with the appetite of a bird. He raised his eyebrows at her in an unspoken question. Just because she had no wish to eat, did that mean he couldn’t enjoy the meal? She blushed and looked away and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her one last time. He stretched his legs out and deliberately caressed her shin with his foot. She jumped and her eyes returned to glare at him once more.

Killian adopted an innocent expression and began a conversation with his host about the natural resources of Sweden.

He had a feeling he was going to enjoy his time in Gothenburg.

Chapter Ten

‘Is that man going to stay in Gothenburg for long?’ Jess couldn’t resist asking her stepfather after their guest had left. ‘He was insufferably conceited.’

Robert threw her a puzzled look. ‘He seemed perfectly amiable to me.’

‘Yes, lovely manners,’ Katrijna put in, happy now she had at last been able to check for herself that her two little boys were fast asleep upstairs and all was well. ‘And so handsome.’

‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ Jess muttered. After her experiences with Karl, she had decided that what a man was like on the inside was more important. And a little steadfastness in the face of opposition would be nice too. She, for one, would certainly not be falling for anyone with good looks again.
Not that I’ll be given the opportunity.

‘Well, he’s staying here for as long as his grandfather thinks it necessary,’ Robert stated firmly. ‘So you will please be polite to him at all times. Lord Rosyth is my relative and he’s too important a man to offend. We have to treat his grandson with respect.’

‘Why is he here though? He didn’t look like he’d done a day’s work in his life.’ Jess was feeling on edge. Mr Kinross had unsettled her with the strange game he’d been playing under the table. Not to mention his knowing glances. It wasn’t something she’d ever encountered before and she had no idea how to deal with it. With Karl and her other suitors, there had been straightforward demure flirtation and courtship. No subtle teasing, only admiring gazes and polite requests for dances or conversation.

‘He’s to work with me and learn to be a merchant. That shouldn’t be too difficult, the lad seems bright enough. Not a dullard by any means. Speaks Latin and French too, so I understand.’

Jess wasn’t convinced. Mr Kinross had the look of a man who’d spent his time pursuing nothing but pleasure and probably trading on his good looks to achieve whatever he wanted. She had mistrusted him from the moment she set eyes on him. An evening spent in his company hadn’t changed her view. She sincerely hoped her stepfather would make him work really hard, then perhaps he’d decide being a merchant wasn’t for him and leave.

Jess rather thought that would be the best thing for her peace of mind, although why he bothered her so much she had no idea. She ought to have been pleased that a man – any man – paid her some attention, but she knew instinctively Mr Kinross had not had marriage in mind. He didn’t look like the marrying kind.

The following day was Sunday. Although Killian hadn’t set foot in a church for years, he had thought it politic not to refuse Fergusson’s invitation to join his family for the morning service.

‘If only you could see me now, Grandfather,’ he muttered as he hurried along the cobbled streets towards the church and slipped in just before the doors were closed. ‘Close to sainthood, at the very least.’

It had been a struggle to rise so early. His head pounded from the after-effects of several bottles of wine shared with McEvoy and Frazer, who had greeted his return to the inn with cries of welcome. Even though Killian had soundly beaten McEvoy at dice the evening before, they didn’t seem to bear him any ill-will.

‘Come and join us for a game of cards,’ they shouted across the tap room. Their good humour was infectious and Killian was happy to oblige. After an evening of stilted polite conversation, he definitely needed some diversion. He was paying for it now and flinched as a shaft of sunlight streamed in through a particularly red pane of glass in the stained glass windows and hit him square in the face.

Squinting, he saw Fergusson sitting in a pew near the front, waving at him. Killian made his way up the aisle, squeezing into the end of the row next to Miss van Sandt. The girl moved her skirts as if she couldn’t bear for them to touch him, but this only made him want to provoke her again. Deliberately, he shuffled closer and whispered, ‘Good morning, Miss van Sandt. You’re looking particularly lovely today.’ Actually, it was nothing but the truth − her hair glinted in the sunlight like gilded silver and although her eyes were grey storm clouds, her cheeks were stained a becoming shade of pink.

He received only a curt, ‘Good morning’ in return and from then on she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the front of the church.

Killian wasn’t much interested in listening to the sermon and he couldn’t understand it anyway since it was in Swedish. As soon as the first hymn had been sung and the minister began to speak in a loud, carrying voice, he decided this was a good opportunity to get to know Miss van Sandt a bit better. ‘I gather you don’t like me,’ he whispered. ‘Why is that?’

At first it didn’t seem as though she was going to answer such a direct question, but finally she hissed, ‘You’re related to him.’ She nodded towards her stepfather, who was thankfully at the other end of the pew and therefore out of earshot. Mrs Forbes was seated next to her charge, but she was busy helping Mrs Fergusson. The two little boys were placed between them and had to be kept in check. One of them had a loud hacking cough and both were fidgeting and whining about something, creating a useful diversion.