Lucy and Her Scottish Laird (25 page)

“There is no doubt about what I saw,” Ian said. “And it is certain Miss Stillwater had to have been shown the treasure. She would never
have found it without some otherworldly assistance. But beyond that…I honestly saw them with my own eyes.” Ian thought back to the filmy shapes
that had vascillated between solid form and ethereal presence. “My father is the absolute image of Sir Alex.”

Malcolm sat silent for a moment, then he grinned. “Then you truly are that wee bastard I used to call you when we were lads.”

Aye, more than Malcolm would ever know. “You could say so.”

“But I won’t,” Malcolm said with a laugh. “Even if I wanted to, what would be the point?”

Ian inclined his head in agreement, though he still wondered what his cousin knew. Had the duchess actually spoken to Duncan’s mother of Ian’s
origins? Why would she do such a thing when it would discredit her and her marriage to his father?

“What about the treasure Miss Stillwater found?” Malcolm asked. “Jewels or coins?”

Ian told him about the three metal strongboxes hidden away in secret compartments in the library, and what they’d found inside. He spoke of his plans
to sell the contents.

“All of it?”

“Most, yes,” Ian replied. “I’ll keep a few artifacts that I think are of value to Craigmuir.” He wondered how Lucy would look
with the circlet of gold encrusted with sapphire and pearls upon her head. Or wearing the pearl ring surrounded by small red stones.

He imagined she would look very well in anything, and exquisite in nothing. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her lying beneath him, wearing
naught but a smile. Her glossy, dark hair would be spread out across his pillow and her sapphire blue eyes would sparkle with satisfaction. He was startled
out of his reverie by the unwelcome mental intrusion of Joshua Parris’s face.

Gesu
, this was torture.

Anxious to change the subject, Ian said, “You and Miss Douglas…when are the nuptials to be?”

Malcolm’s eyes darted away for a telling second. “Ah, she said she needed more time for her trousseau. We do not yet have a date.”

“Malcolm…”

“What do you say to a round of golf at Bruntsfield while the weather is still good?”

Of course Lucy had heard of golf. She’d just never played it. “Come on, Lucy,” Calvin said. “You will enjoy it.”

Calvin spent an exorbitant price for some tiny balls that they were to hit through the grass and land them into little holes that were scattered about. So
far, Uncle Archie’s score was the best.

Lucy decided she’d rather play croquet on the lawn at Stillwater House.

“I should have stayed at home with Meg,” she said, lining up the ball with the hole. “How can anyone possibly…”

“You need to hold the club this way,” Joshua said, coming behind her, slipping his arms down her sides and arranging her hands upon the handle.
The heat of his body along her back did nothing to stir her. It felt no different than if her brother had been the one behind her.

“All right. Let me try now,” she said, willing Joshua to step away from her.

She wished she knew what to do about him. It was becoming clearer with every day he spent in Edinburgh that he had come for her. She didn’t really
know why, because it was now obvious to Lucy their common affinity for history and the study of antiquities was not love. It was merely camaraderie.

Lucy realized now that she’d always envied Joshua’s love for her friend, Eleanor. She had yearned for an admirer the way Jessamine and Caroline
managed to collect them with ease. She never seemed to know what to say, and she certainly didn’t know how to flirt. Joshua was the easy object of
her affections – her infatuation.

She went to take her shot at the ball, but fumbled clumsily when she saw a familiar figure not even a hundred yards away. Lord Broxburn stood with Lord
Kindale at what seemed to be the end of the course.

“Look, Lucy,” Archie said, “’tis Broxburn and his friend. Kindale, I believe?”

Lucy nodded, afraid that her voice would fail her. He seemed to see her just as Kindale spoke to him.

“Calvin, go get Lucy’s ball,” Archie said. “I do not believe this is her game. Besides, we ought to go and speak to
Broxburn.”

A frisson of expectation skittered down Lucy’s spine as she followed her uncle toward Broxburn. Then Joshua put his hand at the small of her back,
ostensibly escorting her across the lawn. It was definitely a possessive gesture, since he seemed only to do it when in the presence of the marquess.

Archie introduced Calvin and Joshua to Lord Kindale, who inquired after Lady Kildrum’s health. “I trust all is well at Craigmuir?” Archie
asked after they spoke of Arden.

“You mean my father? Yes, he is improving,” Broxburn replied.

Archie nodded, quietly saying, “Very good. Very good.”

“Miss Stillwater, how do you find our Scottish city?” Lord Kindale asked.

“I find I like it far more than I expected to, my lord,” she replied. “Excepting our accident and my aunt’s injuries, my time in
Scotland exceeds my expectations.” Lucy blushed, realizing exactly what she’d said.

Kindale laughed. “Well, I am very glad of that, for I truly hate to hear our fair country disparaged.”

“Oh, no,” Lucy protested. “Never that!”

They all laughed, but Lucy noticed that Broxburn’s smile did not extend to his eyes. He looked away, up toward the city’s castle. Lucy’s
heart sank. It was obvious that whatever bond she’d thought was between them did not exist.

They walked past the sixth and final hole – a recent addition, Lucy learned – and off the course. “We won’t go up to the Golf
Tavern,” Archie said, “but what do you say we stop in at Fraser’s for a wee dram? Lucy, you’ll be fine there.”

Which meant there would be other ladies present. Lucy could always count on her uncle to think of her.

“Will you be staying long in Edinburgh?” Kindale asked Calvin as they left the course.

Calvin shrugged. “Nothing has been decided. Parris mentioned a ride up to Stirling Castle one of these days. So we’ll do that, and I’d
like to see one of your renowned scotch whiskey distilleries.”

Kindale grinned. “I know just the place. It is not far from the city.” He looked at Joshua. “Perhaps you will go down to Craigmuir
Castle, too. It is one of the best-kept historical sites in southern Scotland.”

“Oh, but the duke is not well,” Lucy said. “We could not impose more than we already have.” She could see that Broxburn had no
interest in dealing with a touring party at his home, whether or not his father was ill. He didn’t look particularly pleased at the suggestion of
hosting her family again.

Lucy wished she could ask Broxburn about the treasure, and whether he’d figured a way to use it to solve Craigmuir’s financial woes. Not that
she knew anything about such matters, but she was fairly certain one did not trade in jewels and ancient gold doubloons. Or whatever those coins were.

Broxburn barely looked at her. Probably so as not to offend Joshua, who stayed close to her. She wondered why Joshua had not bothered to show any interest
in her while they were both conveniently located in Berkshire. Before she’d met the Scottish marquess.

“How did you enjoy your golf game, Miss Stillwater?” Lord Kindale asked.

“To be honest, I believe lawn bowls is more my game. Or croquet.”

“Miss Stillwater enjoys rooting around old places for ancient artifacts, Kindale,” Broxburn said. “I would venture to say that is more
her game than anything else.”

“Ah, yes, and Craigmuir is definitely old and rife with antiques,” Kindale said.

Lucy’s face flushed, and not at the thought of Craigmuir’s antiques. Those encounters in the ancient ghillie cottage and those moments in the
grotto haunted her.

Then she remembered Broxburn’s kiss of gratitude just before she left the castle. If her father had been there, or if her uncle had known of
Broxburn’s breach of propriety, she would be engaged to him right now. But Lucy did not want a forced marriage. She wanted what her sister Caroline
shared with her husband; what her friend Eleanor had with her duke.

Kindale took out his watch. “It has been very pleasant seeing you again, but I regret we must take our leave. Broxburn has an appointment.”

“And Kindale’s fiancée is likely waiting patiently for him,” Broxburn added.

If Ian’s thoughts returned one more time to the sight of Joshua Parris with his arms around Lucy as she took her shot at Bruntsfield, he was going to
kick something. He was pacing in his study, much to the annoyance of Ferguson, who was trying to take care of some of the duke’s neglected
correspondence.

“My lord,” Ferguson said from his place at the writing desk. “Shall I write to Reverend Dunbar about the repairs to St. Magnus?”

“What?” Ian asked absently. “Oh. Yes. Ask him to send you an estimate for the roof and stonework.”

“My lord…”

“Aye.”

“You seem distracted since your outing with Lord Kindale. Perhaps I should finish up here while you go on and—”

“Hint taken, Ferguson. I will leave you to your task. Let me know when Boyd arrives.”

He went to his workroom behind the kitchen where he made his own fishing flies from bits of string and thread. Creating the artificial insects usually
relaxed him, but not today. He sat on his bench, staring at nothing, thinking about Lucy and her attachment to Parris. And he could not help but consider
Duncan’s threats and whether his cousin actually knew anything. He found it incredibly hard to believe the duchess had spoken of her husband’s
adultery to Duncan’s mother, even though they’d always been on very friendly terms.

But Duncan obviously knew
something
.

He jabbed his fingers through his hair, annoyed by his disordered thoughts. It was impossible to put Lucy out of his mind, though he knew that would be
best. What he ought to do was leave Edinburgh. It would do him no good to stay here and witness Parris courting Lucy, for they were certain to run into
each other now and then, just as they had on the golf course.

Ian needed to finish his business with Boyd and get back to Craigmuir Castle to oversee his father’s recovery. And check on the duchess’s
condition. She had been unable to speak since her first stroke. The latest illness left her unable to write, too. So any information about her past –
and his – would not be communicated through her. At least, not any more.

He thought again about divulging the truth of his heritage. As much as it had bothered him before, once he’d seen the ghost of Sir Alex, his bastardy
no longer stuck in his craw. The entire Craigmuir line was illegitimate. Should he tell Malcolm or his other close friends? Was it a wife’s right to
know? Ian could imagine telling Lucy, but…

He put down his work and thought about it. Wouldn’t Lucy be as appalled as any other well-bred woman would be? His father had done the unthinkable by
carrying out a stunning fraud. No, he could not tell Lucy. Or any other prospective wife.

The day dragged on, but finally the auctioneer came and showed them the catalog of items for sale and the expected price each one would bring. Boyd had
contacted a number of private collectors, and recommended holding back a number of pieces in order to fetch even higher prices for them at a later date.
Ian agreed.

“This is Persian gold, my lord,” Boyd said of the coins. “Do you have any idea how your ancestors came into possession of it?”

“Possibly from the Crusades. There might be some documentation at Craigmuir,” he said, though he did not know if that was true. It would be
quite interesting if MacAdams managed to turn up some clues about the origins of the treasure. “My father’s steward is looking into it.”

Ian knew very little of Sir Alexander Gordon, but according to legend, the knight had escorted Béatrice to Scotland from her home in France. If the
treasure had been part of Béatrice’s dowry – which would have been exorbitant in any era – Ian did not understand why it had been
hidden and presumably forgotten. And if it had belonged to a Craigmuir crusader, he could not fathom any good reason to hide it away, only to be forgotten
over the centuries.

However, he was quite glad it had.

The following morning, Ian sent Ferguson to Brodie House, north of Edinburgh, to check on its condition. He had not been there in years and wanted to make
sure the place wasn’t falling down. He could not trust Duncan to be an adequate steward of his mother’s home. “Meet with my aunt if you
can, and see if she has any needs beyond what Duncan has told us. But do not make any promises.”

Ian didn’t owe Duncan anything. He might be a cousin, but had done absolutely nothing to deserve any honor or consideration. The duke had been
generous to a fault, continuing to support his nephew after his brother’s death. He’d paid for Duncan to attend the best schools, and even
offered to purchase an army commission for him. Failing that, he’d arranged a stewardship for him in one of Scotland’s great houses.
Fortunately for that family, Duncan had declined.

He’d also declined the duke’s influence in getting him into the banking and legal professions, both of which were quite rampant in Edinburgh.
But Duncan was a true wastrel. He did not even take care of the Brodie property. The only subjects he’d mastered during his years at school were
drinking and whoring. And now blackmail.

“I shall leave immediately, my lord,” Ferguson said, “after I answer these.” He handed Ian several invitations for social events
over the next few days. Ian thought about which ones might garner Lucy’s interest, when he came across a note from Lord Kildrum.

“We will be attending touring Holyrood Palace tomorrow morning ~ Thought you might like to join us.”

It was not a formal invitation and did not require a reply, and Ian had a suspicion that Lord Kildrum had an ulterior motive for sending the note. Was it
to thwart Parris’s courtship of Lucy? Or did he have some other purpose in mind?