Amanda Scott (40 page)

The new bailie seemed to be the antithesis of Fergus Campbell, for he was a plump little fellow with a serious look, seemingly without bluster or spirit of any sort. His manner was deferential, becoming even more so when he was presented to the earl, and for the first time since Rothwell’s arrival in the Highlands, he felt a nearly, overwhelming urge to resume the foppish manners that served him so well in London. He resisted the urge, but his tone was silky smooth when he acknowledged Goodall’s introduction. “You are an Englishman, sir,” he said.

“Oh, yes, my lord, that I am,” the bailie agreed. “’Twas thought by many that ’twould be ill-advised to assign another Campbell, or even a member of the MacKenzie tribe, after that dreadful business that transpired here some days hence.”

“To appoint a different sort of man is certainly a tactful gesture,” Rothwell agreed. “Fergus Campbell was not well beloved in these parts.”

“I doubt I shall be loved much more, my lord,” Goodall replied with a steady look. “I intend to do my duty.”

“As you should, sir, as you should.”

MacDrumin chuckled. “Faith, Mr. Goodall, we do not despise a man for doing his duty, only for enjoying it in the fashion favored by the late, most unlamented Campbell. But then, sir, I’ll wager you will not physically attack our lassies or ambush good men who are merely going about their lawful business.”

“Goodness, no,” Mr. Goodall said, clearly aghast at the thought that he could be guilty of either transgression. He looked at Rothwell and said diffidently, “You are English, too, my lord, or so I was informed, but I was also told that you had taken a Scottish woman to wife. Pray, what is your exact position here, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

“I own the Glen Drumin estate,” Rothwell said lazily.

“But I was told ’twas still Lord MacDrumin who—” Goodall glanced at MacDrumin, then looked quickly back at Rothwell, clearly flustered. “That is to say, my lord, I fear that even in the face of an English nobleman’s owning this estate, I must nonetheless insist upon searching for any illicit stills.”

“Do what you will, Goodall,” Rothwell said with a dismissive shrug. “I am persuaded that no one will interfere with you.”

MacDrumin nodded and said, “To be sure, that is quite true, for there can be no cause, after all. Come sit by the fire, Goodall, and warm your innards with a bit o’ whisky. I’ll pour it out for you myself.” He proceeded to do so, in a tall chopin, then watched confidently when Goodall took his first taste.

The bailie sipped, sipped again, then sighed and said, “A tolerable brew, my lords, most tolerable indeed.”

Exchanging a look with James, Rothwell relaxed, expecting to enjoy whatever was coming.

“Aye, ’tis tolerable,” MacDrumin agreed. “Let me add a wee bit more, Mr. Goodall. Come, lads,” he added with a gesture to Rothwell and James, “pour yourselves each a mug. We cannot let our guest drink alone. Maggie, lass, have you food for us yet?”

“Aye, Papa, I have,” she said, still evading Rothwell’s gaze whenever he tried to catch her eye. “We’ve sheep’s head broth, leg of mutton in caper sauce, black pudding, and a pair of fine roast pigeons. ’Tis excellent fare for weary men.”

“Leave us the jug, lass,” MacDrumin said as he, James, and Goodall took their places at the table. “I will propose a toast, lads, to Mr. Goodall and to prosperity in his new grand position. Drink up now, everyone, drink up!”

“Thank you, sir,” Goodall replied in his turn. “I shall drink to your health.”

“To the Highlands,” MacDrumin said when they all began to lower their mugs.

“To the king,” Rothwell murmured, eyeing MacDrumin with amusement.

“To halcyon days,” retorted that gentleman, grinning.

“To our host,” Goodall said next, not to be outdone.

“To women,” James said, “bless their foolish hearts.”

“Aye,” MacDrumin said approvingly. “How they do get around us. ‘Can’t live with them, or without them!’”

The toasts continued, and before the newcomers had even begun to eat, two of them at least had emptied their mugs several times over. MacDrumin soon bellowed for more whisky.

“To a fine dinner,” he said when the mugs had been refilled.

“I will certainly drink to that,” Mr. Goodall said, beaming now. “To your cook!”

“Aye, to the cook,” MacDrumin repeated. Sometime later, he said casually, “You know, lad, I’ve been thinking that it’s darkening far too quickly for you to make any proper search tonight. You’d be well advised to have a good night’s sleep and finish your task in the morning.”

Goodall nodded sagely and drained his mug. “I believe you are right about that, sir. Is that jug empty again?”

“Nay, lad, have another nip.” MacDrumin poured.

Maggie, who had been sitting with them, watching the proceedings in evident fascination, got to her feet at last and said in an offhand way, “I will bid you a pleasant good-night now, everyone, and take myself along to bed.”

“An excellent notion,” MacDrumin agreed, “but before you retire, lass, have them make up the bed in your old bedchamber for Mr. Goodall.”

“How very kind of you,” Goodall said, his words slurring.

“’Tis naught,” MacDrumin replied, “but I see that your mug is empty again, sir. Permit me to rectify the matter.”

“Papa,” Maggie said firmly, “I will gladly order a room prepared for Mr. Goodall, but I mean to sleep in my own bed.”

“Nonsense,” MacDrumin retorted. “You’ll sleep with your husband, lass, and let Mr. Goodall have the next best chamber. Our other guest chambers are right drafty and cold on a winter’s night. What’s more the
view
is best from yours.”

“The west corner chamber—”

“Whisst now, not another word.” MacDrumin’s tone hardened. “Would you be inhospitable to a guest, lass?”

Flushing, she denied that she was being any such thing, and when Goodall protested that any dry nook or cranny would do very well for him, Rothwell took a hand in the conversation at last.

“You will do as your father bids you, sweetheart. I’ll come upstairs shortly.”

She hesitated, glaring at him, until MacDrumin said impatiently, “Oh, go along with you, lass. We’ll none of us be long now, but I do want a word with Ned before he goes up.”

Maggie looked at him in surprise, and Rothwell realized it was the first time MacDrumin had called him Ned. Again, he caught James’s eye, and saw that his brother was considerably amused. James had not refilled his mug nearly so many times as MacDrumin or Goodall had done, or even himself, though Rothwell had less than half what the others had drunk. James looked merry enough nevertheless, and Rothwell had no doubt that his irrepressible brother was enjoying himself hugely.

Maggie tossed her head, but she went, and when she had gone, MacDrumin made a small sign to James, who promptly engaged Mr. Goodall in conversation. MacDrumin got up to shout for more whisky, signing to Rothwell to go aside with him and saying in a lowered tone when he did, “I wanted him in Mag’s room because I mean to have a little sport with him. Do you recall what I told you once about how we rid ourselves of another fool excise man?”

“The dummy in the tree,” Rothwell replied promptly, “but surely you won’t try anything so crude with Goodall. He is too unimaginative to be frightened off by primitive hints of danger.”

“No bailie is unimaginative,” MacDrumin growled. “Every one is a damned nuisance, and when we’re lucky enough to find one who is a fool, it would be a crime to ignore the fact. But the lad coming alone like he did, and over the ridge instead of keeping to the track like a Christian, nearly stumbled right onto the ponies we were packing. I had to draw him off, but we cannot have him feeling so welcome that he drops in on us without warning whenever he’s a mind to taste our whisky, can we?”

“Perhaps not, but tread gingerly, MacDrumin.”

“Och, and don’t I always? I’ll have a wee word with James next, so he can slip out and tell Dugald and the lads it’ll be safe to nip the consignment out of the glen tonight.”

Noting that MacDrumin’s words were no more precisely spoken than those of his guest, Rothwell said no more, believing both men would soon be too inebriated to get into trouble. He went back to the table long enough to finish the last few drops of whisky in his own mug, but when MacDrumin moved to refill it, he put his hand over the top.

“No more for me. Maggie’s waiting.”

MacDrumin chuckled. “Aye, she is and all. Take a good stout targe wi’ ye, lad, lest the lass has armed herself. James, lad, a word with you, if you please,” he added.

“I thought Highlanders were forbidden to take up arms!” Goodall was clearly surprised and not too pleased.

To deflect his attention from MacDrumin and James, who had moved a few feet away, Rothwell smiled and said, “I doubt any government has discovered how to disarm the fair sex, Goodall. MacDrumin refers only to his daughter’s temper. Like most women she is armed with sharp claws and a sharper tongue.”

When Goodall nodded, sipping thoughtfully, James laughed and said, “They breed fiery women in the Highlands, Goodall, as you will discover if you remain here long. I’ve met one myself who will snatch off my head if I do not make good my promise to take her out walking this evening. Since you have all decided to remain within by the fire, I pray you will hold me excused now, and wish me well, for wee bonny Kate has a temper far greater than our Maggie’s, and since she had been containing her soul in patience this past hour and longer, waiting for me, she may well be primed to explode by now.”

“Aye, lad,” MacDrumin agreed, “that lass will rip off your arm and beat you with the bloody stump if you’ve put her out of temper. You had better take one of the stouter lads upstairs with you for your own protection.”

“I doubt any of them would agree to bear me company,” James said, grinning. “They’re all downright terrified of her.”

When Goodall looked from one man to the other in confusion, Rothwell took pity on him, saying lightly,

“They exaggerate, Goodall, as I am sure you must perceive.”

“Yes, my lord, no doubt.” He swallowed the last of his whisky too quickly, choking on the heady brew until MacDrumin pounded him on the back, nearly unseating him.

“Have a care, lad. Men have suffocated in just such a manner. Have another drink.” MacDrumin poured it for him.

Rothwell bade them good-night and followed James, who paused near the stairs and muttered, “I hope she isn’t angry with me.”

“Scared of the wench, Jamie?”

“Stimulated, brother, not scared. She’s a wonder, is Kate, and will be glad to be included in my little venture tonight, but she may have expected me upstairs sooner than this.”

“You like her.” He made it a flat statement of fact.

“I do.” James’s look challenged him to disapprove.

Rothwell grinned at him. “I wish you well of her. She is like to murder you, and it will be no more than you deserve.”

Chuckling, James turned and they went upstairs together. Rothwell left him at Ian’s door and went up to find Maggie, thinking as he approached his bedchamber that he was most likely going to have to search for her, and wondering just how angry she could make him if she set her mind to it. To his astonishment, she was waiting for him, but she was not alone. She wore her thick chestnut-dyed mantle over a pale pink flannel shift, and Maria was brushing her hair.

“Leave us, Maria,” he said.

“Don’t go, Maria,” Maggie said sharply. “I wish to have my hair properly plaited before I retire.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” Maria said, continuing to brush.

Rothwell said gently, “Must I put you out, Maria?”

Her dignity undiminished, Maria made him a stiff curtsy and left the room.

Maggie bit her lower lip, then said thoughtfully, “It is a wonder to me how a servant who was supposedly provided for my use ignores my every command.”

“If she does indeed do any such thing, you have only to tell me. I will see that she obeys them forthwith.”

She sighed. “You know perfectly well what I mean. Maria is not a servant I would choose for myself if I truly wanted to have someone at my constant beck and call, but she does obey my commands well enough when
you
are not at hand.”

“I am glad to hear that. She will also obey
my
commands when I
am
at hand, or she will be very sorry that she did not.”

She looked directly at him then, clearly hearing the note of authority he had intended for her to hear. There were roses in her cheeks. The flickering light from the fire and from the candles on the dressing table and chest, recently added to the room’s stark furnishings, gave her complexion a rosy golden warmth; and her long, thick, tawny hair gleamed brightly with a million flaming highlights. He felt his body stir with desire for her, but ruthlessly repressed the feeling. He had things he meant to make plain to her before either of them was much older.

She licked her lips and watched him, the long silence clearly disturbing her. Finally she said softly, “I think you no longer speak of Maria. If you are angry with me, I wish you will say so. You commanded my presence here tonight, and I have obeyed you, but I have not changed my mind. I want you to end this crazy union of ours as soon as you return to London.”

He wondered at the lack of response in himself. Had she said such a thing weeks before, he would have been grateful. And since he had long since decided he no longer wanted annulment or divorce, her words now ought to disappoint him, but they did not move him one way or the other. If he felt anything, it was slight amusement. Was he so cocksure of himself? Of her? If either was the case, he must be a knave.

She moistened her lips again. They were parted now, expectantly, but what did she expect? His body stirred again, and he said quietly, “I no longer want to end our union, Maggie. I thought I had explained that quite clearly.”

“But it’s wrong,” she said sadly. “We are too different. You have been kind this past week, to be sure, but this morning I realized our union is as misbegotten as the union between our two countries. Our traditions are different, and so are the things we think most important. Like should marry like, Edward, and no one should be forced to marry. You were tricked into this marriage. No man could want that.”