Amanda Scott (32 page)

Rothwell had been trying to think of a way to bring up ideas he had that might help the men of the glen find real jobs to support their families, so it was a moment before he realized what MacDrumin had said. Then he replied warily, “I was not aware that I had gone to work with her at all.”

“Aye, and isn’t that just why I thought I’d draw the error to your attention,” MacDrumin said. “You ought not to have told the lass she wasn’t to go out on her own, not when our folk depend on her to be telling me of misfortunes that do not customarily fall within my realm. Not only is she bound to defy your order but the responsibility is one she takes seriously. It’s no different from what you will expect your wife to see to on your own estates, I’m thinking.”

Rothwell said flatly, “See here, MacDrumin, I have not changed my mind about having this fool union annulled at the earliest possible moment, but in the meantime, you cannot pretend it’s safe for any young woman to roam these mountains without an armed man or two to attend her. During the past week, I’ve heard one tale after another of men and women accosted by Campbells or others of their ilk who take unfair advantage of their government favor. Does it not concern you, man, that your daughter is as likely as anyone else to suffer such an indignity?”

“She’ll be warned of any outsider in the glen,” MacDrumin said calmly, “and there’s not a man here who would not seek to avenge any wrong done to her, so it would take a brave one, or a fool, to accost her.”

“Nonetheless, I don’t like it. She must do as she’s bid.”

“Tell me, lad,” MacDrumin said shrewdly, “do your women in England always do what they are told?”

“If they know what’s good for them, they do,” Rothwell said, suppressing memories of Lydia’s worst escapades.

“I see. I suppose you will tell me next that they always agree with their husband’s or father’s opinions in such matters.”

Rothwell started to nod, realized MacDrumin was laughing at him, and said with a responsive chuckle, “You do know how to put a man in the wrong, don’t you, sir? I should have to be a fool to tell you any such thing. One day you must meet my young half-sister.” When MacDrumin did not reply but only waited expectantly, he sighed and said, “Very well, I shall attempt to couch recommendations I make to your daughter only in the most diplomatic terms, for the short time we remain married.”

Grinning in apparent satisfaction, MacDrumin directed his attention to a fork in the path and told him to keep left and mind he didn’t hit his head on a low-hanging limb.

Rothwell did not resent MacDrumin’s enjoyment of the situation, He knew the man was no fool, and that it must be obvious to him that his reluctant son-in-law was growing daily less recalcitrant. Rothwell himself was certainly aware of it. No sooner had he resolved to think of Maggie only as Miss MacDrumin than he had ceased to think of her as anyone but Maggie. And if that was not bad enough, since he had resolved not to lay a finger on her, all he could think about was touching her, holding her in his arms again, and kissing her until she moaned with pleasure and begged for more. In short, he wanted to take his lovely wife to bed, thought he was a damned fool not to do so, and was afraid his wily father-in-law could read his mind.

It was as well, Maggie thought as she cleared a creeping bramble from her path, that Rothwell had not asked what she meant to do that day. He had ridden off with her father soon after breakfast, and James had gone out directly afterward with young Ian, presumably to make more sketches. He had set up an easel in the north parlor, a small but comfortable chamber off the end of the great hall, where he said the light was best for his work, and had already begun to paint. When she had asked to see his picture he had refused, grinning and saying he meant it to be a surprise. Only Ian had seen it, and he was as close as an oyster when it came to discussing James. James had developed quite a liking for the boy, who in turn utterly worshipped him, following him about like a friendly puppy.

There had been none of the difficulty she had expected in keeping the Carsley men in Glen Drumin. They seemed willing to stay, interested to learn all they could about the glen and its people. She still did not doubt they meant to pass along a good portion of what they learned to the authorities in London, and could not understand why her father seemed determined to help Rothwell discover all they would need to condemn him.

When she had taxed MacDrumin with her worries, he snapped, “Will you whisst now, lass? I’ll tell the man what I think he ought to know, for ’tis my belief the more he knows about the glen and our people, the more reason he’ll have to do what’s right. Faith, I’ve no wish to be hearing what you believe your own husband means or does not mean to do when you’ve not so much as discussed it with him, and go out of your way to avoid him.”

“Don’t call him my husband,” Maggie had retorted. “He may be so in name, but that’s all. It will never be more, for all he believes he has the right to tell me what I may or may not do.”

To her surprise, MacDrumin had only smiled and shaken his head, but she had meant what she told him, which was precisely why she was walking through the woods at the upper end of the glen on this bright sunny afternoon. She was going to pay her respects to Rose MacCain and Kate’s granny, having decided she had avoided the MacCain place long enough, and had been wrong to do so. Kate’s granny liked her, and Rose became almost animated when she paid a call, so even if she was still angry with Kate, it was unfair to make the others pay the penalty. She would tell Kate what she thought of the fix she had put her in, and then it would be done and they could be friends again. Maggie missed having another female to talk with, and Kate had been her friend too long to let even the incident at Laggan come between them.

Before going to the MacCains’, she had visited one of the outlying cottages near the ridgetop above Abershiel. Passing the site of the old bothy on her way, and seeing that its remains had been fixed up to look like a working still, she knew Rory had done his work and the old worm would be replaced with a new one before another sennight was gone.

To get to the MacCain place, she had followed the ridgetop for a short distance, enjoying the panoramic vista spread out before her. She could see the rugged northeastern slopes and the vast, fertile fields below, where barley would be growing in the spring. The October colors were bright, the air clear and crisp, and she loved the solitude of the woods. A golden-brown pine marten slipped gracefully from one log to another, as unconcerned as if he roamed the forest alone. He was early, Maggie thought, for martens were generally nocturnal of habit, and it was not yet three in the afternoon. Wondering idly what had disturbed him, she continued her ramble, watching for the oddly crooked pine tree that served as her landmark for the path to MacCains’.

She saw the small white warning flag fluttering from a sprawling oak near the well-tramped path at the same moment she heard the men’s voices, but feeling secure both in her location and her innocent purpose, she walked on. Voices carried easily in the clear mountain air, and it was a few moments before she encountered the men themselves. When she did, and saw that it was Fergus Campbell and one of his minions, Sawny MacKenzie, strolling idly along the path, she held her head high and kept walking, intending to pass them with no more than a civil nod.

“Well, Sawny,” Campbell said in an overloud voice, “look what we’ve got here. ’Tis a wee, winsome lassie.

“Aye, she is that,” the other replied, his grin revealing a gap where his two front teeth ought to have been. He was smaller than Campbell, wiry of build and sly of countenance.

“Why, I believe it is Maggie MacDrumin,” Campbell exclaimed as if he had just discovered the fact. He tipped his hat to her. “Give ye good den, sweetheart. Whither be ye bound?”

Wishing now that she had kept hidden until they passed, Maggie kept her chin high and walked determinedly on. When Campbell replaced his hat and stepped into her path, eyes agleam with intent, she said stonily, “Let me pass, Fergus Campbell.”

“Mayhap I will, mayhap I won’t,” he said, taunting her. “What will ye gi’e me an I do?”

“’Tis what you’ll be getting an you don’t that ought to concern you,” she retorted.

“Now, now, lassie,” he said, gripping her arm and forcing her to face him, “ye canna talk so uncivilly tae a representative of his majesty’s government. ’Twill be better for all, an ye treat me wi’ proper respect.”

“Take your hand from my arm.”

“The lassie’s got spirit, Sawny. Just look how her eyes flash when she snaps her wee tongue. Coom, lassie. Gi’e us a kiss and we’ll say no more aboot yer uncivil conduct.”

Trying to jerk her arm free, Maggie said crossly, “Do you forget who I am?”

“Nay, lass, but yer father willna muck aboot wi’ Fergus Campbell. I ha’ found no man outside the glen who will say yon precious earl had more than two servants and a single coachman, who’s alive and well in Laggan and spends his days polishing two fine coaches, so I’ve a fine notion in me head that all the praying and the psalming was fer naught more than tae hoodwink me own self. If the MacDrumin canna show us a proper dead body, we’ll be taking him off tae Inverness tae stand his trial, and this time the magistrate willna be taking his side of the matter. Not when I tell him we’ve found a MacDrumin still, and all.”

“Have you, indeed?” she said tightly.

“Aye, we be going for it now. We’ve our methods, ye ken. Now we know of the one, we’ll soon find the others, and when we do, MacDrumin will pay the price. Presently, however, we ask only the rightful toll fer the use of this path. So gi’e us a kiss, Maggie MacDrumin, and mind ye make it a good one.”

She glared at him. “You know full well that I am no longer plain Maggie MacDrumin but the lawful Countess of Rothwell. Do you dare to lay a hand on Rothwell’s wife?”

He laughed. “Your marriage makes nae bother, lass, since I’ve seen yer princely Rothwell. Fancy clothes and a pretty face, but naught for a real man tae fear. I’ll deal wi’ Rothwell, and gladly, but ye’ll pay yer toll the noo.”

“She’ll pay me, too, Fergus,” Sawny MacKenzie said. “Don’t be keeping her all to yerself. ’Tis right selfish, that is.”

“Aye, lad, I’ll share, never fear.” Catching Maggie’s chin in one strong hand, he forced it up, then paused as if to savor the moment before slowly bringing his face closer and closer till their lips touched and she thought she would be sick.

She kicked him, hard.

With a roar of pain he released her to grab the ankle she had kicked, and she rushed past him, snatching up her skirts and running, hoping Sawny MacKenzie would not dare follow her. But it was not Sawny, it Campbell himself who caught her, and when he did, he shook her till she thought her neck must snap.

“Aye, yer a brave lassie, are ye not,” he growled, his grip on her shoulders bruising her, his rancid breath making her feel ill again. His eyes glittered with evil purpose, and again he seemed to savor the moment, but this time she knew she would not be able to break free. His grip was too strong.

Desperate, she pushed him, hoping to take him by surprise, but he did not even sway where he stood. Her fury amused him. He smiled, and behind her she heard Sawny’s responsive chuckle.

Sawny cried, “Ye’ve got her, Fergus! Show her what a naughty wee lassie she’s been. Punish her, Fergus!”

“Aye, I’ll punish her, right enough,” Campbell said, jerking her against him and trying to capture her lips with his.

“Let me go, Fergus Campbell,” Maggie snapped, struggling furiously. Then suddenly she went still, again hoping to take him off guard, and when he took her stillness for acquiescence and moved to claim his kiss, she brought a knee up sharply between his legs.

But this time he anticipated her, twisting so that she kneed only his inner thigh.

He slapped her hard across the face. “Ye’ll pay for that, lass. By God, ye need a lesson in manners.”

“Teach her, Fergus,” Sawny said, dancing up and down now in his increasing excitement. “Oh, teach her, teach her!”

Anger and fear turned swiftly to terror, and when Fergus grabbed her hair in a fist to hold her, to claim the kiss he demanded, she wrenched her mouth free of the awful, seeking lips and screamed, “To me! Anyone, to me! A MacDrumin!”

He slapped her again, and her ears rang, but she fought like someone possessed, kicking, biting, trying to scratch him with her fingernails. He knocked her to the ground, and she lay stunned, aware of his mammoth figure looming over her, hearing Sawny’s frenzied cries of excitement, but she was too shaken and numb to do any more to deter Fergus. He reached to grab her.

His hat blew off his head a split second before the pistol shot rang out, startling him so that he froze with his hand still held out toward Maggie.

“If you move one more muscle, Fergus Campbell,” declared a familiar feminine voice from the shrubbery, “I’ll blow so much of your daft head away, there’ll not be enough left to hang your great fat lugs upon. Leave her be.” Kate stepped out of the bushes, holding a flintlock pistol in each hand, and when Sawny stepped angrily toward her, she snapped, “You stand where you are, too, you wee louse. I’d take as much pleasure in ridding the world of a MacKenzie as a Campbell, believe me.”

Rothwell and MacDrumin were on their way back toward Glen Drumin House when they heard the shot. MacDrumin, having announced with impudent candor that it would behoove them to stay away from Abershiel that day, had taken Rothwell on foot along the river to the upper end of the glen. On the way back they encountered James and Ian, fishing from the bank with whisky-soaked worms.

“As you see, young Ian’s method works well,” James said, raising his voice to be heard above the roar of the water, and indicating a string of trout dangling in a pool protected from the force of the river’s current. “Do you care to join us?”

Both men refused, but they lingered a few moments to admire the catch and to enjoy the late afternoon sunlight sparkling on the water, before MacDrumin led Rothwell up away from the river to a forest path. It was just as the shrubbery hid James and Ian from view that they heard the shot.