Amanda Scott (29 page)

Now, despite her cryptic comment to Kate, Maggie looked only tired. He seemed to be the only one who was angry, for even James looked more frustrated than upset. Rothwell had no difficulty understanding that his brother felt chagrin at being bested by one small but most irritating female. He felt that same frustration. There did not seem to be any way to avoid having the whole business come out when he returned to London. His enemies—nay, even his friends—would delight in the news that he had been entrapped, no matter how briefly, into a marriage that was not of his own choosing.

The hall was emptying rapidly of everyone without duties there. The Cheltons had already gone upstairs, so when MacDrumin picked up a branch of candles and repeated his offer to see Rothwell to his room, he nodded and called to James to accompany them. Until he had time to sort out his feelings, to know he was in control of his temper again, he did not want to be alone with the unpredictable MacDrumin. If matters were indeed as the man described them, he would do himself no good by protesting, and there was still the comparatively minor problem of his promise to Ryder. It was clear now that getting help from anyone at Fort Augustus or Fort William would be difficult if not impossible, so if he was to learn what exactly was going on in the central Highlands, he would have to do it himself.

He bade Maggie good-night, and was surprised when she only nodded vaguely in reply to MacDrumin’s order that she, too, seek her bed, for her bearing was stiff and her attitude such that Rothwell was certain she had no intention of obeying. An English daughter would not think of ignoring an order given by her father or brother. Even Lydia, rebellious as she could be, dared not defy him to his face. She might seek ways and means of getting her own way, but she always at least tried to make her actions appear impulsive or hasty rather than defiant.

MacDrumin gestured with a branch of candles he had picked up toward the angled stairs at the end of the hall, and paid no attention to his daughter’s vague reply but led Rothwell and James to a bedchamber on the second floor, where he said good-night. The room was plain, boasting little more than a large bed, a wooden chair, and a huge wardrobe. It contained nothing of a decorative nature other than the cheerful fire now crackling in the small, hooded fireplace.

Chelton looked up from the small portmanteau he was unpacking and said, “I’ve sent for hot water, my lord, and I set Maria to unpacking the few items Miss MacDrumin—or, should I say—the new Lady Rothwell …” He paused expectantly.

James began, “By old Harry, Ned—”

Rothwell cut him off with a gesture. “It is her right for the present, James. Let her enjoy it while she can. Go on to bed now. We can talk about it all in the morning.”

James hesitated, and Chelton said, “You have the bedchamber next to this one, Master James. I took the liberty to command one of the serving men to attend you there.”

“Thank you,” James said, adding bluntly, “Ned, just how long do you mean to stay here?”

“I don’t know yet,” Rothwell told him honestly. “I was certain MacDrumin would resent my presence, but he seems to welcome it. God alone knows why.”

“Seems a practical fellow,” James said. “Perhaps he hopes his daughter will somehow retain some control over the family property if he don’t antagonize you too thoroughly.”

“He can’t really think he has not done that already,” Rothwell said thoughtfully, “or were you too taken up with Kate MacCain to pay heed to what I said to him earlier?”

“Do you know they call her Mad Kate? One of the servants told me. Seems she’s got such a reputation for temper in these parts that most men are terrified of her.”

“You ought to be one of them,” Rothwell said with a wry twist of his lips. “Her pistol might well have unmanned you, considering where she had the damned thing pointed.”

James chuckled. “Give me ten minutes alone with the wench, and I’ll teach her never to do such a mad thing again. I’ll tell you the truth, Ned. I’d like to see her with a clean face and a decent gown. She may be a vixen, but she’s a dashed pretty one.”

Shaking his head, Rothwell said, “Even with a clean face that woman would be too dangerous to play with, James.”

“No more dangerous than our Maggie,” James retorted, “I know you hold her innocent in all that has transpired, but think about this. Had she not cozened you into coming to the Highlands, you would not be in the fix you’re in now.”

The door opened, heralding the arrival of Rothwell’s hot water, and sparing him the need to reply. James took himself off soon afterward, and when Rothwell was ready for bed, he dismissed Chelton, pinched out his candle, and climbed into bed, surprised to find it comfortable. The coverlet was a thick, cotton-covered eiderdown, the pillows were also down-filled, and the sheets were dry and well-warmed with a warming pan. He could still smell rain in the air, and pine boughs, and another scent as well that he had been aware of for several days that Maggie had said was the tang of good Highland peat. He rather liked it.

Lying there, he heard a distant murmur of men talking in the yard below—MacDrumin’s guards—and he thought about the bailie, Fergus Campbell. The man had looked like a ruffian. No wonder the women did not like him. MacDrumin did not seem to fear him, however, which must mean Campbell was utterly ineffective in his position. Even had his host not been impudently candid about the contents of the barrels carried so swiftly into the house, Rothwell would have realized they contained whisky. The fact that they had been so determinedly concealed from the bailie, he knew, meant no duty had been paid on their contents.

But, whatever he owed Ryder, he was not here to help the likes of Campbell, and while he certainly could not condone the illegal production of whisky on his own property, he would go slowly until he knew that whisky smuggling was the only illicit business being conducted in the glen. MacDrumin was clearly a force to be reckoned with, so the more one learned about his activities, the easier it would be for Ryder’s men to ferret out other such enterprises throughout the Highlands.

Then, and not the least of his problems, there was Maggie. James chose to blame her for enticing them to the Highlands, but he knew that was only because James did not know Rothwell had put himself in a position that allowed Ryder to blackmail him into coming. And in truth, he knew, too, that he had no one to blame but himself, for the simple fact was, he had done little against his own inclination since leaving Eton at the age of fifteen to go to Oxford, and nothing at all since the day he left Oxford.

That he had landed himself in a pretty predicament was undeniable, but he would get himself out of it, and there was nothing to be lost in the meantime if he took a week or two before returning to London to look things over in Glen Drumin. An annulment would be simple enough to obtain at any time, since Maggie would not be able to claim consummation of her marriage. In the meantime he had only to avoid touching her.

That he had been thinking of her as Maggie for some time now was not good, he told himself, and regardless of what he had told James and Chelton, he must not think of her, even for a moment, as his lady, only as Miss MacDrumin. Keeping a guard over his actions would be easy. He had only once or twice been tempted to touch her, although there had been a time or two when, catching her eye and smiling, he had felt a certain glow when she smiled back, but the woman had a temper nearly as bad as Mad Kate’s when it was stirred, and she was far too stubborn a wench to tempt him. She talked without thinking, and her political notions were nonsensical, just the sort to be expected from a woman.

Honesty brought him up short. What did one expect from a woman? He could not recall having ever discussed politics with one before his conversations with Maggie. Certainly he had never done so with Lydia or his stepmother. Neither had ever shown an interest, and if they had, he would have discouraged them. But although he disagreed with ninety-nine percent of what Maggie said, he enjoyed their conversations. She stimulated him, his thoughts. A mental vision of her flitted through his mind, and he knew he was not thinking of her political views anymore. He was thinking of her golden hair, her hazel eyes, and her silky soft skin, the way her lips pouted when she was thinking, the way her eyes flashed when she disagreed with him; and, suddenly, it was as if he were touching her, stroking that silken skin. She had seen him naked, and he wanted to see her so. He knew then that, far from being certain he would never lay a finger on her, he wanted to do just that, to touch her, to stroke her silken skin, to make her laugh and moan and shriek with ecstasy. His body responded to the thoughts, and he groaned. He was a fool.

M
AGGIE WAITED IN THE
hall for MacDrumin to return, hoping he would not attempt to delay a confrontation. She was certain he would not simply go off to bed after seeing Rothwell to his chamber, for he was likely to have more orders to give his men once the Englishmen were not right at hand. He might not want to take time before that to speak with her, but she intended to see to it that he did.

She could not believe she was legally married to Rothwell. The whole notion was ludicrous. Not that marriage by declaration was new to her, for she had often heard of couples resorting to that means when there was no priest or parson at hand to perform a proper wedding, which was frequently the case in isolated areas during the wintertime, when what roads and tracks there were lay under a dozen or more feet of snow; but she had never heard of any couple being married by such a means against their will.

Her father must have been joking, punishing Rothwell for his impudence in coming to claim his estate. She would confront him, and he would admit it, and she would tell him precisely what she thought of such pranks, and the whole business would be over. The marriage would be disavowed, and there would be no need to suffer the indignity of annulment or divorce. Otherwise, she had seen enough of Rothwell to know he did not make idle promises, and could not doubt that he would seek one or the other. And from what she knew of him in London, she was certain that whatever he demanded would be granted to him.

The thought of divorce chilled her, but at least annulment was possible, and she thanked God that the earl had not decided to use the excuse of his so-called marriage to ravish her. Other men given such an opportunity would certainly have done so, but whether from principle or out of sheer temper, he would not take advantage of her even now, and for that she must be grateful.

Hearing rapid, familiar footsteps echoing on the stairway, she moved quickly to intercept MacDrumin as he came down the steps, but he made no attempt to avoid her. He was grinning from ear to ear, and before she said a word, he caught her up off the floor and whirled her around in a near-crushing embrace.

“Och, lassie,” he said, chortling as he set her down again, “what a thing it is to win a hand again! Thanks to you, we MacDrumins will hold Glen Drumin for yet another generation.”

“How can you say so, Papa? Even if this so-called marriage somehow continues one day past Rothwell’s appeal to Parliament, his heirs will not be MacDrumins. They will be Carsleys.”

“Bah, ’tis all the same. His sons will be my grandsons, with MacDrumin blood running through, their veins, and they’ll not be Englishman, whatever his lordship tries to make of them. Indeed, and it would be all the better for you to keep your own name and give both to your sons. It is often done here, after all, particularly when a powerful man like myself has no sons and his daughter marries well, which, bless you, you have done.”

“Papa, this absurd marriage cannot be valid, and even if it is, his lordship will make short work of ending it.”

“I don’t doubt he has that power, lass, which is why I did not argue the point with him,” MacDrumin said with sternness in his voice, “but you must see to it that he does not. Faith, you must see how important it is to us. You will be proper mistress here again, a thing you owe to our people. If you can but manage to stay married to the man, you’ll be able to influence the way he spends his money, and more of it will find its way to the glen, to the good of us all. If he leaves, if he obtains his blasted annulment, then Glen Drumin will surely remain at the mercy of Fergus Campbell and his ilk.”

Maggie regarded him with sudden suspicion. “Papa, was entrapping him your idea then? Did you send Kate to trick him?”

He chuckled. “Not I, lass, I give you my word. Och, but I would have done it in a trice had I but thought of it. That Kate! Who would have believed she could be so clever?”

“Not clever, sir, vindictive. She dreamed it up merely as a way to get even with Mr. James Carsley. No doubt she would have been happier had he been the one to burst into my room.”

“Then she’s not as clever as I thought, for that would have served no good purpose at all. I’d be seeking the annulment myself, for I’ll not allow you to marry a younger son. I doubt the lad has a penny beyond what Rothwell gives him.”

“You are right about that, I think. James is an artist, a capricious one, who takes an interest in any new thing that crosses his path. His sister told me he goes to Rothwell whenever he needs money.” The thought that it might have been James instead of Rothwell who rushed to her rescue was singularly unsettling. It would not have mattered, since Rothwell would be as anxious as MacDrumin to end an alliance between herself and James—indeed, as anxious as he was to end his own involvement. Nonetheless, the notion was disturbing. She had no interest in James Carsley, nor could she imagine staying married to the earl. When she said as much to MacDrumin, he was obdurate.

“Now, look here, my lass,” he said sharply, “for once in your life you must do as you’re bid, because this business is far too important to allow foolish sensibility to impede it. You must do whatever is necessary to keep Rothwell here in the glen, and whilst he remains, you must do all you can to encourage his attentions, even if that includes enticing him to your bed.”

“I’ll not! I’ll do no such wicked thing!”