Just in Time for a Highlander (4 page)

Duncan watched the self-assured bounce of the brown waves as she floated down the stairs. Being tall, Scottish, and reasonably good-looking, he was used to reducing women in America to tongue-tied teenagers. Abby, on the other hand, seemed entirely immune to his charms. He might as well be…well, a swineherd.

When he finally lifted his gaze, he saw they had not been alone. Rosston stood in the arch of a doorway, partially obscured by a statue. Duncan nodded coolly, a silent acknowledgment that Rosston’s observation had not gone unnoticed, and Rosston turned and disappeared.

So
that’s how it’s to be?

A servant dropped off a pitcher, ewer, and a roll of cotton wool as promised, and in a few moments Duncan had washed and bandaged himself. He imagined what it might have been like for Abby to do the tending instead.

He had to assume she was the de facto chief of Clan Kerr, but what sort of woman runs a clan? The last time there were working clan chiefs of any gender in Scotland, not to mention clashes between English soldiers and Scots clansmen, George II was king. The thought made Duncan dizzy.

How had Abby succeeded to the title? Had she no brothers? Duncan thought of the room full of aggressive, determined traders he managed, hardly more civilized than a regiment of bloody-minded clansmen. How did a lass of twenty-three or twenty-four command them? And how had the clan’s coffers been mismanaged?

He looked around the room. A brocade-covered bed stood between carved tables. A tapestry of some ancient battle hung on the wall. A candle stood in a holder shaped to look like a lion rampant. He’d been in a dozen centuries-old castles like this on school trips or dragged by his mum on holidays to see “our history,” but never had he stood in the middle of one, knowing that the furniture and decorations at which he looked were not part of Scotland’s past but its present. A shiver went through him.

He didn’t have to be a denizen of this century to know his torn and bloodstained sark was a no-go for dinner. He opened the wardrobe and looked at the array of linen and coats. Whoever owned them was tall and broad shouldered. He hoped it wasn’t Rosston. He didn’t want to spend a moment in that man’s debt.

He found a sark embroidered with a tiny vine around the neck and down the front. Had Abby’s hand done the work? He traced a finger along the twining leaves.

He heard a sound and turned. Grendel had appeared and was turning in circles to make a place for himself on the empty hearth.

“Oh, I see. You’re here to keep an eye on me, are you? As if I had anywhere to run. Perhaps you can tell me a bit about your mistress.”

Grendel laid his head on his paws and looked at Duncan ruefully.

“Sworn to secrecy. I understand.” Duncan bent to scratch the dog’s ears. “There are no pets allowed in my building at home, I’m afraid. I have to get all my dog needs filled at the park.”

Grendel rolled on his back and offered his belly.

A boy flew by the open door, firewood in his arms, and Grendel barked. Duncan recognized him as the boy who’d been attacked at the battle.

Duncan jogged to the door. “Hey.” The boy spun around. He was twelve or thirteen, with a shock of brown hair that hung over his forehead. “Where are you going?”

“Firewood for Sir Alan’s room.”

“Come back here when you finish, will you?”

The boy shrugged, flipping the hair from his eyes.

By the time Duncan had tucked in his tails, the boy was back, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “What is it?”

“Do you remember me?”

The boy nodded, hesitant.

“My name’s Duncan. Is your arm all right?”

“It is, sir. Thank you.” The boy stooped by Grendel and patted the dog’s head. His hands were filthy and the shirt he wore looked as if it was a size too small.

“Grendel is Abby’s dog, is he?”

“Abby?”

“Er, Abby Kerr?”

“Oh, Lady Kerr. Aye, he is. He’s verra good with sticks. I can throw them as far down the river as you can imagine, and he just jumps in and brings them back.”

“Lady Kerr is, er, the chief of Clan Kerr? I’m not from around here.”

“She is. My ma says Lady Kerr is too big for her saddle. I don’t know as I agree, though. I’ve seen her in her saddle. She looks quite handsome.”

Duncan coughed to hide a laugh. “What about you? Do you like her? Do you think she does a good job? Lady Kerr, I mean, not your mum. I’m sure your mum does a very fine job.”

The boy shrugged. “I guess. She negotiated with an officer in the English army, and there haven’t been any battles since last year at Hogmany—well, until today.”

“Does Rosston help her? Rosston is the man with arms like small hams.”

“I know Rosston. He was a hero at the Battle of Dunkeld. Everyone knows him.”

“So, does he help her with the planning of attacks or anything else with the clan?”

“Lady Kerr does not plan attacks,” the boy said. “I don’t think she likes them at all. She certainly doesn’t plan them with anybody.”

“Perhaps they share a different relationship?”

The boy made a thoughtful frown. “They
are
related. Rosston’s her cousin, though their families don’t speak.”

Feuding cousins. Very interesting. “She appears to be a little cool toward him.”

“I dunno about that. He’s the one who gave her Grendel.”

Hearing his name, Grendel thumped his tail.

“
Hm
.” The giving of a dog was not generally the act of a mere acquaintance, though perhaps in this case it was a gift to mend the rift between the two sides of the family.

The boy had pulled a sausage from his pocket and the dog was running in circles, trying to earn a treat. The boy threw a piece, and the dog caught it in midair.

“What do you know about the canal?” Duncan asked.

“It’s a big empty hole. The men started digging it three years ago. But they stopped.”

“Why? Do you know?”

“My cousin Jack worked on it, and he says they ran out of money. But my ma says Lady Kerr pissed it away with trips to London and Paris to see her lovers.”

Duncan’s brows went up. “That’s quite an accusation.” Carnal appetites, fiscal irresponsibility, and consorting with, or at least spending time in the lands of, one’s enemy—no wonder Abby was finding things hard going. “What do you think?”

Again, the boy shrugged. “I like her. She’s always kind to me. And she’s very good to Grendel.”

Duncan smiled. Could a truer gauge of worthiness be found? “I take it you spend a lot of time here?”

“I help the cook when she asks,” the boy said, “and I sometimes sleep in the barn. But I don’t live here.”

“What’s your name?” Duncan said.

“Nab.”

“Nab, I am in need of an assistant.”

“A what?”

“A man to run my errands, do my bidding, carry my notes—”

“Answer your questions about Lady Kerr?”

Duncan searched the boy’s face for the hint of a tease and had no trouble finding it. Duncan’s ears warmed. “Er, aye.”

“Am I to be a spy, then?”

Duncan blinked. “Let’s see where assistant takes us first, shall we? How much does the cook pay you?”

“A shilling a week and breakfast.”

Pursing his lips, Duncan considered what he should offer. He had a twenty in his sporran—useless here—and his wallet was in his hotel room in Pittsburgh. He had no idea where he’d get the money to pay the boy, but then again, Duncan had never had a problem making money, no matter where he was. “Let’s make it two then.”

“Three,” the boy said stoutly. “Rosston offered me two to keep my eye on you.”

Interesting. Duncan’s investment in the boy was already paying off. “If I offer to pay you four, will you turn him down?”

Through the cascade of hair, Nab gave Duncan a careful look. “Do you
want
me to turn him down?”

Duncan wished every man in his employ possessed the same cold-blooded cunning. “Now that you mention it, no.”

A pleased smile rose on Nab’s face. “When do we start?”

“Well, the first thing I need is some valeting. I don’t know your customs as well as I ought. It’s very important to Lady Kerr that I look acceptable at dinner tonight. Can you take a look and tell me if anything looks odd?”

Nab grinned. “Your hair is a
very
bright shade of red.”

“
Och
, a comedian. Those three shillings are starting to look like two again to me.”

The boy laughed. “You’ll need a different plaid. Those are too close to the Campbell colors. You can’t wear that here.”

“There we go. That’s the sort of advice I need.” Duncan waved at the wardrobe. “Choose carefully. I should very much like to outshine our friend Rosston tonight.”

Nab’s eyes came alive. “In that case, there’s a really big sword and sheath in the Hunting Room. It’s got a dragon on it, and jewels too. But it’s too high for me to reach.”

“A dragon? Well, we dinna want to miss that.” Duncan stuck out his hand. “Nab, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Abby nodded discreetly to her servant. Sir Alan’s goblet was perilously low on wine, and she wanted him to be well lubricated before they moved into the Great Hall to start dinner. The library was sparkling, and she and the heads of the most important families stood admiring the pink-hued sunset through the western windows. Abby had no intention of mentioning the canal to Sir Alan tonight. Business is best done with breakfast in your belly, her father had always said. She wanted Sir Alan’s first evening in the bosom of Clan Kerr to be one of pleasant and unexceptional repose.

The servant refilled the glass, and Sir Alan gave the young woman a lupine stare. Oh, dear. Always the risk of lubrication. Unfortunately, the woman filled Rosston’s glass as well. Rosston’s crimson cheeks betrayed a lack of moderation that appeared to have begun before his appearance in the library.

“I understand there was a run-in with the army this afternoon,” said Sir Alan, taking another deep draft of wine. He eyed Abby closely.

“They haven’t the sense to stay off our lands,” Rosston said. “The point of our swords must be the reward for trespassing.”

“The company had lost their way, I believe,” Abby said. “When they realized their mistake, they left peaceably. It was hardly more than a moderately warm tête-à-tête.”

“Like young lovers?” Sir Alan met Abby’s gaze over the top of his goblet.

“Lady Kerr?”

Undine, in shimmering green silk, signaled from the doorway. Abby excused herself.

“I’m afraid I am the bearer of some unhappy news,” Undine said. “William’s leg is starting to swell. I fear a fever will o’ertake him by nightfall.”

Abby’s chest tightened with worry. “Will you—”

“Aye, I have. I’ve given him a marigold tisane. The other news is more troubling. Do you remember the company of soldiers this afternoon? I have it on good authority the sergeant is telling his officers the clan attacked first.”

“What? No!” The tightening became a vise. If the sergeant managed to convince his officers the Kerrs were attacking the English, there was no telling what the army’s response would be.

A servant carrying a platter of salmon cakes looked to Abby for instructions. Abby waved her in the general direction of Sir Alan. For God’s sake, was she to be required to make
every
decision in this place? She could not outwit the English
and
know the right place to put the salmon cakes. There simply wasn’t enough room in her head for all of it.

“Undine, I need you to go to the army headquarters in Bowness. See what you can find out. I know you have contacts there. Perhaps one of them has some influence with the colonel.”

“I should prefer to stay to watch over William, but I suppose I can instruct a servant to care for him in my absence. May I have the use of your carriage?”

Abby agreed and gave quiet instructions to the footman, who hurried off. “And while you’re there,” she said, turning back to Undine, “I wonder if you could—”

She gasped. MacHarg had stepped into the hallway from the Hunting Room and was making his way toward the library. He’d shifted from his odd, skirted plaid to a longer Kerr one in a stunning crimson that set off the width of his shoulders. He looked a foot taller than he had earlier, and the setting sun was directly behind him, giving him the quite misleading appearance of wearing a halo.

Undine cleared her throat, and Abby’s jaw instantly returned to its proper place.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Undine said quietly. “I was afraid I had an apoplexy on my hands.”

“He looks so…so…”

“Indeed he does. And the ripple of the linen is making me think your strong-arm plea has not gone unanswered. Is that not the sark you embroidered for Bran?”

MacHarg spotted Abby and smiled.

He made a low bow. His muscular knees, an hour ago caked with mud and blood, shone like pale marble. Abby was reminded of a statue of Mercury she had once seen in London.

“Good evening, Lady Kerr.” He gave her a daunting smile. She opened her mouth to reply; then her attention fell on the sword extending from his sheath.

“Where did you get that?” she asked, shocked.

“Do you not recognize it?” He pulled it free and brandished it with a laughably unskilled flourish. “It’s yours, from the Great Hall. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one as handsome.”

“You cannot—”

“Is something amiss?” Sir Alan had wandered over. “Your cousin says there’s been some news about the army—something about a possible retaliation for today’s tête-à-tête?”

Panicked, Abby searched for a convenient lie. “Er…”

“There has been,” MacHarg said firmly. “Though not as you describe. The army has sent an apology via messenger. The sergeant who trespassed is new to the borderlands and misread his map. The transgression shall not be repeated.” He gave Abby a conspiratorial look, and she bowed her head in gratitude.

Sir Alan narrowed his eyes. “And who are you?”

MacHarg gave Abby and Undine a stern, peremptory glare. “I am adviser to Miss…er…”

He’d forgotten the woman’s name! “Fallon,” Abby said quickly. “Of course, it’s hard to remember since she just remarried.”

“But you said ‘Miss’?” Sir Alan looked confused.

“Did I? It’s Missus. But,” she added carefully to MacHarg, “she wishes you to continue to call her by her given name—
Serafina
.”

Undine gave MacHarg a gentle elbow and said, “I think she may have a bit of a crush on you.”

Abby trod hard on her friend’s instep.

“
Mrs. Fallon
, of course,” said Undine with a glare. “But how could she, since you are almost close enough to her to be her brother?”

The servant with the salmon cakes returned, evidently determined to engage Abby in their disposition.

Sir Alan regarded MacHarg with interest. “And where is this Mrs. Fallon with whom you share such a familial-like relationship?”

“I am here.” Serafina sped down the hall, a vision in fawn velvet, and came to a dead stop in front of MacHarg, no doubt trying to recall the exact connection she and he were supposed to share.

“There you are, my dear.” Abby gave her a gentle kiss. “You know Duncan MacHarg, of course. And here is the guest I was telling you about, Sir Alan Raeburn. Sir Alan is in today from Edinburgh.”

Serafina made a small “
Ooh!
” followed by a deep curtsy, indicating she remembered who
he
was, at least.

Sir Alan bowed, letting his gaze travel over Serafina’s ample bosom like a fox eyeing a pair of goose eggs. Despite his age, Sir Alan had lost no interest in the hunt.

“A pleasure,” he said to her. “And how, again, are you related to Mr. MacHarg?”

“I believe he is something in the way of an adviser,” said Rosston, who had edged his way into the circle, “through a swineherd connection. Good evening, Miss Fallon.”

“‘Missus,’ I think you mean,” Sir Alan said, and Rosston frowned.

Abby prayed everyone would remember how they were related to one another for at least the next hour or two, or it was going to be quite a long evening.

Sir Alan said, “I give you great joy of your recent marriage, Mrs. Fallon.”

Serafina looked as if she’d swallowed a porcupine. “Er…what?”

MacHarg made a deep-throated
proceed
with
caution
noise, and Serafina, catching on, grasped his arm tighter and gazed at him with love. “I’d say it took us both by surprise—”

Abby coughed and shook her head.

“—and I can’t wait to introduce you to him, Duncan. I know you will like him.”

The long moment of silence that followed was broken by Undine’s snort. “Well, I would certainly love to stay for the rest of
this
dinner, but I’m afraid I have business that takes me away tonight. With any luck, I shall see you on the morrow.”

Undine exited, and Sir Alan said to MacHarg, “I am told you are an adviser. Pray, sir, on what do you advise?”

Clearly happy to have become the center of attention, Duncan held up a theatrical hand. “Actually, that’s a rather interesting story. Like you, I suppose, I had aspirations in banking, but after my first year of university, things took a wee turn. You see, I fancy myself a bit of a—”

If Abby could have reached MacHarg’s instep, she would have forgone her heel and plunged his sword through it instead. In place of that, she fired off a look that would have flattened a lesser man. Just because Sir Alan was talking to him didn’t mean her proscription against talking to Sir Alan had expired.

“A bit of a what, sir?” Sir Alan said.

MacHarg, paling, considered. He snagged a salmon cake from the platter. “Fisherman. That is to say, I advise on fish
and
I fish. I am all fish, truth be told.”

“Oh, well, I am a man of fishing myself. A very fine stream runs through my property in Fife. You must try it sometime.”

Another servant appeared and met the eyes of the footman, who immediately straightened and announced dinner was ready. The group moved into the Great Hall. Abby had purposefully put MacHarg in the middle of the long table, between Serafina and Undine, so that he would be as far as possible from both Sir Alan, who would be seated next to Abby at one end, and Rosston, who would be seated next to his men at the other.

However, her plans were not to be. Serafina, who had stopped to rearrange her skirts, was swept up by Rosston on the way to the hall, and MacHarg was repeating a particularly drawn-out story to Sir Alan about the enormous size of a salmon he had once caught. It seemed to Abby, who had almost no interest in fish except those Mrs. Michael baked into her pies, as if gentlemen these days were almost as invested in the size of their catches as they were in the size of their—

“Battering rams, milady?” Sir Alan had paused to observe the pair of intricately carved columns of wood that hung in an X over the dining room’s massive hearth. “Rather an unsubtle touch.” He smiled.

“My grandfather used to say the larger the weapons, the fewer the wars.”

“Is that a sentiment you and your father also share, Lady Kerr?”

And
just
who
was
being
unsubtle
now?

“Perhaps,” she said with a forced chuckle. “Though I suspect it was for different reasons. My father liked his swords sweeping. I prefer my peace that way.”

MacHarg said, “I understand the people of the borderlands have been quite pleased with the peace Lady Kerr was able to negotiate. More than a year now, is it not? That has to be a record.”

He raised his goblet and Abby’s cheeks warmed. That was the second time he’d helped her navigate a difficult situation. She found herself flustered by his support. The last few years had been so turbulent and her ascension to the chieftainship so fraught with controversy, she had grown used to expecting every decision to be a fight and every fight to be fought alone.

While she was most grateful for his help, she was very interested to know the source of his information. His “reinterpretation” of the army’s message—patently false—was predicated on knowing that a messenger had come to Kerr Castle. And now for him to know she’d brokered a peace with the English army a year and a half ago? Was he a borderlander? But no. Everything about him was a degree divorced from the expected, from the cut of his clothes to the odd length of his hair to his sometimes surprising choice of words or phrases, suggesting that the odds of him being from the borders were small. On the other hand, there was no mistaking that lovely, deep rumble for anything other than a Lowland burr. She looked at him and he gave her a lopsided grin. But even that, she had to admit, carried a note of something in it marking him as an outlander.

She lifted her glass in thanks. He gave her a generous smile.

“Sir Alan, surely you didn’t come to Kerr Castle for fishing?” Rosston popped a gobbet of lamb in his mouth.

“I did not. Though I could surely be tempted.” He gave MacHarg a gentle poke. “No, I am here to talk to Lady Kerr about her canal.”

Abby pushed a small mound of peas around her plate. She had hoped to keep the nature of his visit between Sir Alan and herself.

“The canal?” Rosston leaned forward. “I thought the project had been abandoned?”

Sir Alan had not gotten to be on the board of the Bank of Scotland by being lured into indiscretion, and he could judge enough in Rosston’s tone to know that the answer, if any were to be given, must come from Abby herself.

“I am looking to reopen it,” she said.

“And from where are the funds to come?” Rosston demanded a second before the answer came to him.

Sir Alan buried his attention in his oysters.

“You are bringing a
bank
into this?” Rosston shoved his chair from the table. “This is a family matter. Your father would not agree.
I
do not agree.”

A clansman whispered, “Nor do I,” and a few others nodded.

Abby felt the focused gazes of her men. “Rosston, this is hardly the place—”

“No,” he said, voice rising. “You dinna bring outsiders into something like this. We settle these things on our own. You dinna open our—”

MacHarg adjusted his chair. It moved no more than an inch, but the scrape carried such menace Rosston stopped in the middle of his sentence.

Abby sat with dread, waiting for MacHarg to say something that would irretrievably transform this discussion from a point of order between a chieftess and her cousin to a bollocks-driven brawl in the middle of her dining hall. But MacHarg only picked up his wine and waited politely for Rosston to finish.

Abby relaxed a degree. “Thank you, Rosston. That will be all.”

He flung down his napkin and stalked away.

With the throb of blood in her ears, she said, “I am so sorry, Sir Alan.”

“I see my presence here is upsetting to some of your men,” he said. “I wonder if I should go?”

“No,” she begged. “Stay. Please. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll talk to Rosston.”

Sir Alan tapped the edge of his plate. “Milady, I think it might be best for all concerned if you were to invite me back when there is some consensus among your men. As I understand it, each has a vote, does he not?”