Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (9 page)

‘You’ve come to the right place then,’ McEvoy smiled. ‘But be prepared to work like a slave, isn’t that right, Frazer?’ His companion nodded in full agreement and rolled his eyes.

‘And how! Never a moment’s peace, but at least it’s not dull and at the end of the day, there’s always convivial company to be had here at
Vita Hjorten
.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Killian had expected to have to work hard, so the two men’s warnings didn’t faze him. It was good to know he wouldn’t have to spend his evenings alone once Captain Craig had left for Edinburgh.

During the conversation, Killian looked around him and noticed that the inn was very sparsely furnished, with the bare minimum of tables and benches. There was no decoration to speak of, simply bare wooden walls. However, the large fireplace, very broad at the bottom and tapering up to a thin point near the ceiling, gave out plenty of heat and added cheer to the otherwise stark room.

‘Fancy a game of dice?’ McEvoy asked hopefully. ‘No one will play with me this week as I have the devil’s own luck.’

Killian hesitated for a fraction. He really did want to put his old life behind him. On the other hand, if he was to set up in business he would need all the funds he could get. Unless Lady Luck had deserted him for the young man sitting opposite, here was a way of acquiring additional capital. To refuse would seem churlish and if he wanted to make friends in this foreign country, he couldn’t afford to offend anyone. To clinch the matter, he promised himself he would stop before he either lost too much or fleeced his companions.

He smiled. ‘That sounds like a challenge I can’t refuse.’

Chapter Eight

Robert was becoming more openly critical of Jess every day and she found herself being reprimanded for the slightest thing. Her mother, wrapped up as always in her toddlers, appeared not to notice. The few times she did, she only frowned at Jess and sighed. It was as if the additional strain of strife between her husband and her daughter was just too much to bear on top of her other burdens. This made Jess feel more and more isolated and increased her determination to find a way to escape.

‘I hear you insulted Mrs Forbes this morning,’ Robert said with a frown.

Jess had been called into his study yet again, this time because she had been rude to his relative. In his mind, that was probably an offence punishable by death, Jess thought sarcastically. Outwardly she tried to keep her emotions under control, although her jaw was clenched as tight as a vice.

‘Not intentionally. I just pointed out that since Mother was suffering from a headache, my time could be better spent helping her instead of wasting it on useless embroidery.’

This wasn’t quite how she had phrased it, as Jess well knew, but it was what she’d meant. Not that she didn’t enjoy embroidery occasionally, but she much preferred to spend time with her brothers, Ramsay in particular. Their former rapport had been well and truly re-established, and she played with him as often as she could.

Apparently Robert had been told the unedited version of events. This was all the excuse he needed to give Jess a very long lecture on the evils of not minding her elders or doing as she’d been told. He never once raised his voice, but she still felt like a five-year-old caught doing something heinous. Throughout his diatribe there lurked the underlying menace of possible banishment. She heard him out in seething silence, knowing her face was becoming suffused with a flush of anger she couldn’t hide.

When at last he ran out of breath, she walked out of the study with her head held high. As always, she closed the door behind her as quietly as she could, instead of slamming it hard the way she’d like to do. Gritting her teeth, she ran towards the stairs, only to barrel straight into someone who was just coming in from the hall.

‘Ooof! I beg your pardon.’

Disconcerted, she took a step back and was about to apologise again, but as she looked up the words died on her lips. In front of her stood the handsomest man she had ever seen and she couldn’t do anything except stare at him for a moment. He had shining dark auburn hair, pulled back into an untidy queue, cornflower-blue eyes surrounded by sweeping black lashes, and impossibly perfect features. She blinked and wondered if he was real. Perhaps he was one of the archangels spoken of in the Bible? She shook herself mentally. What a ridiculous thought.

‘No, it is I who should apologise. Miss Fergusson, is it?’ He bowed. ‘Killian Kinross at your service. I’ve come to see your father and was told to wait over there.’ He indicated a chair obviously placed for this purpose against the wall outside Robert’s study. ‘I should have looked before entering this hallway. My mistake.’

‘He is
not
my father,’ she hissed, reminded again of the recent encounter and ignoring the rest of the man’s sentence. ‘He is the devil reincarnated.’ This was perhaps a gross exaggeration, but saying the words out loud gave vent to her pent-up frustration and made her feel a whole lot better.

Mr Kinross raised his brows a fraction and a slow smile spread over his features. Jess almost gasped as the effect of it was like a physical blow to her solar plexus. ‘Riled you, has he?’ he enquired with amusement in his voice. ‘Ah, but of course, he’s related to my grandfather. Stands to reason.’

Jess didn’t follow the logic of this statement. In fact, she had trouble thinking coherently at all with that devastating smile dazzling her, but she closed her eyes and gathered what few wits she had left. ‘I don’t wish to discuss it. Good day to you, Mr Kinross.’

And with that parting shot, she stepped around him and ran up the stairs, lifting her skirts to take the steps an unladylike two at a time. Glancing down from the first floor landing, she saw him staring after her with a thoughtful look on his face. When he noticed her pause, he smiled again and bowed in a lazy, almost insolent salute.

Jess ignored him and continued upstairs. She’d had more than enough of men to last her a lifetime and she wanted nothing to do with any of them, handsome or not.

Killian stared after the tiny blonde who had just rammed him in the chest, a not un-enjoyable experience in itself. She seemed to be in a terrible temper, which made her grey eyes flash with quicksilver spirit and her cheeks blush becomingly. Although she wasn’t a beauty in the normal sense of the word – she was too petite for that and her colouring a little insipid – Killian had nevertheless felt a pull of attraction which took him by surprise. Normally he preferred his women well rounded, dark and pliant, but he reflected that it might be interesting to try a fair-haired miniature Valkyrie for a change.

He smothered the thought before it took root. She had been at odds with Mr Fergusson, the man he was here to work with, and it wouldn’t do to antagonise him from the start. He wondered at the relationship between them since the girl clearly lived in this house. Whoever she was, she was most definitely out of bounds at the moment. Besides which she had ‘untouched’ all but engraved on her forehead. Killian smiled to himself. Years of experience had taught him to recognise the innocent among the girls he met. Nothing would induce him to break his rule about not bedding young virgins. They were more trouble than they were worth.

As the door opened and he was ushered into the office of his grandfather’s relative, he put the episode behind him. Time enough to find out more about the strangely delectable young lady later.

‘Come in, come in, young Kinross.’

Robert Fergusson was all smiles. He didn’t show by as much as a flicker of annoyance that he had just had an altercation with the little Valkyrie. A thick-set man with a craggy face and bushy eyebrows, he was half a head shorter than Killian. He had wavy dark brown hair, liberally shot through with grey, and brown, almost black eyes. An aquiline nose gave an impression of hauteur, despite the outwardly friendly manner and his presence was such that anyone meeting him for the first time felt latent power ooze from his every pore. Killian suppressed a shudder. This man was ruthless, he knew it instinctively. He would have to be careful.

He handed Fergusson the letter from his grandfather. ‘Thank you for receiving me so soon, sir,’ he said. ‘Grandfather didn’t have time to send you word of my arrival, but here is his letter of explanation for my presence here. I warn you though, it might make tedious reading. I expect he’ll be giving you a blow by blow account of my character.’

Fergusson smiled briefly. ‘I take it the two of you don’t see eye to eye? Well, Uncle Kenelm was always a touch domineering. I’ll take his words with a pinch of salt.’ He read through the missive quickly, and Killian waited in silence until he had finished. Fergusson nodded. ‘It’s as I thought. He wants you to have some “gainful employment”. I think I can manage to supply that. What do you know of trade?’

‘Not much. I picked up a few hints from the captain of the ship I arrived on, but I think it would be best if you treated me as a complete novice.’ Killian decided not to tell Fergusson the ship was his. Time for that later perhaps. ‘I’m willing to work hard and I learn fast. I’ll be happy to perform whatever tasks you set me.’

‘Sensible words. I see you don’t lack brains.’

‘That’s not what grandfather says.’ Killian smiled and shrugged.

Fergusson’s mouth twitched again. ‘As to that, you’ll have to prove him wrong then.’

‘I certainly hope so.’

‘Have you anywhere to stay?’

‘I’ve taken a room at
Vita Hjorten
, near
Smedjegatan,
for the moment, but I’ll be looking for lodgings as soon as possible. I wanted to get my bearings first.’

‘Of course. You’re welcome to stay here if you wish, but it’s a household of women and children. Not ideal for concentration of any kind.’ A look of impatience crossed Fergusson’s face, but was quickly smothered and the urbane expression returned. ‘Do come for supper tonight though. The children will be in bed by then.’

Killian wondered vaguely if that included the blonde girl, but hoped not. He would enjoy meeting her again. It might prove amusing, especially if she was still at odds with Fergusson. ‘Thank you,’ he said and bowed. ‘I’ll return later then.’

‘Good, good, then on Monday morning I’ll take you to my business premises where I’ll introduce you to Albert Holm, my chief assistant. He can show you the ropes at first, he’s very knowledgeable. You could do worse than listen to him.’

‘Thank you again. That sounds ideal.’

As he left the house, Killian wondered whether Fergusson was palming him off on his assistant in order to be rid of the responsibility. Only time would tell. Whatever happened, he was determined to learn as much as possible, in as short a time as he could.

The sooner he could set up his own business, the better.

The atmosphere in Lady Brabury’s ballroom was stifling and the air barely fit to breathe. Feeling decidedly irritable, Farquhar positioned himself behind a convenient pillar and loosened his neckcloth a fraction when no one was looking. He couldn’t understand why it was necessary to invite more people than the room could actually accommodate, just to show the world that one’s gathering was a social success. This seemed to be the norm these days and it was deuced uncomfortable.

His main concern was not the lack of space though, but keeping an eye on his grandfather, who had insisted on attending this function
.
The old man was sitting nearby talking to his old friend Ruaridh Cameron, who seemed to be in remarkably good spirits for someone whose daughter was facing imminent ruin. He was also not glowering at Lord Rosyth, which could only mean the two men had come to some agreement regarding Killian. Farquhar suspected Lord Rosyth had rescued the undeserving scoundrel from his just desserts. What made Farquhar’s blood boil the most was the fact that his grandfather didn’t seem too concerned this time. He should have been furious.

Blaming Killian for the Cameron chit’s predicament had seemed like such a good plan when he first hatched it. Farquhar realised now he should have picked the girl with more care. He hadn’t had any dealings with young Iona himself and hadn’t paid attention to the gossip circulating about her. That was a mistake. He really must be more careful. Not that he’d had much choice; she was the only pregnant girl who Farquhar knew for sure that Killian had slept with. He’d ignored the fact that the encounter had taken place the previous year and therefore ruled Killian out as potential father of the child.

Farquhar shook his head. What was done, was done. No use repining. The thing now was to move forward and he could only see one way of settling the matter once and for all: Killian had to be eliminated. Until that happened, Farquhar could never be sure of his position. Lord Rosyth was liable to change his mind whenever he saw fit.

Farquhar threw the old man a glance. Perhaps he should rid the world of his grandfather as well while he was at it? A convenient accident shouldn’t be impossible. It would be a shame though and since what Farquhar really wanted was his grandfather’s approval, bumping the old man off would take away half the satisfaction of being the heir. Still, it was something to think about.

First, he needed to find out where Killian had gone, and there seemed no chance of that here. He couldn’t hear a word the old man was saying either with all the noise going on around them. Tiring of this spying game, Farquhar looked about for a servant with a tray of drinks. Instead his eyes fell on one of Killian’s cronies, Dougal Forster, who was lounging against the opposite wall. He looked as miserable as Farquhar felt. No doubt he was missing his debauched companion, but perhaps that could work to Farquhar’s advantage. In the hope that he might glean some information from him, he strolled over.