Amanda Scott (42 page)

Goodall clutched his head, and Maggie, concealing both her astonishment and increasing amusement, said gently, “Let me fetch a servant for you, Mr. Goodall. You will want your breakfast.”

With a strangled sound, the bailie turned and fairly threw himself back through the bedchamber doorway, and Rothwell said with a twinkle in his eyes, “I think the man wants a basin more than he wants a servant, sweetheart. Come away from his door so you won’t be offended by noises from within.” He drew her gently back toward his own bedchamber.

“You were dreadful,” she said, trying to hide her laughter.

His eyebrows flew up in astonishment. “This accusation from MacDrumin’s daughter? I thought I was magnificent, as good as the old man himself, although I still have my doubts as to whether his plan will work in the end.”

“This was his notion then. I did not think it was yours, but there isn’t really a body out there, is there?”

“No, but not for lack of wishing for one. Your resourceful sire observed that it was a pity we hadn’t thought to keep Fergus Campbell’s body above ground for just such a purpose. However, he—your father, that is—was in no shape to argue for long with James and me, when we insisted upon using a stuffed dummy rather than digging Fergus up again.”

“James and you? Then you did get up in the night. I missed you, but before my thoughts cleared—”

“You missed me?” Again the eyebrows went up, and with an exaggerated gesture he raised his quizzing glass to look at her.

“Put that thing down. You look ridiculous, sir. I hope you do not mean to parade around this house in that outlandish dressing gown. It fair makes me blush to look at you.”

“I like your blushes, sweetheart. Come and kiss me, and I shall decide whether to dress properly yet or not.”

“I must find a servant to help Mr. Goodall.”

“Hang Mr. Goodall. Chelton!” he shouted, and when Chelton came running, Rothwell said, “See to Goodall, will you? I’ll shout again when I want you.”

“Yes, my lord.”

To Rothwell’s delight, Maggie made no objection when he drew her inside his bedchamber again, and it was some time after that before they descended to break their fast. There was still no sign of Goodall, nor had Rothwell found it necessary to shout again for Chelton to help him dress, for Maggie had served him.

MacDrumin, whom they found consuming a large breakfast, looked chipper and exhibited a hearty appetite, though he had surely taken as much drink as the bailie. When they explained Goodall’s condition, he grinned impudently and shouted for a man to go up and see if Chelton needed assistance. “Don’t go and let Goodall die on us now,” he called as the man hurried up the stairs, adding in a lower tone to Maggie and Rothwell, “’Twould be a pity to have wasted all that whisky only to have to do it again when they send us a new chap.”

“Papa, for goodness’ sake,” Maggie scolded. “What an awful thing to say!” But when she looked at Rothwell, he saw mischief in her eyes. She said, “To think that Papa should provide evidence for your wicked comment to Mr. Goodall about our so-called Highland disregard for human life!”

MacDrumin demanded an explanation, and while she unfolded the details of their encounter with Goodall, Rothwell watched her, thinking again that he enjoyed studying the quick changes of expression on her face and looking for the twinkle in her eyes and the lurking smile on her lips. He liked MacDrumin, too, which no doubt accounted for his uncharacteristic behavior the previous night when, having wakened with a sense of unfinished business, he had dressed again and gone down to the chilly hall to find the bailie snoring stertorously on a bench before the fire and MacDrumin attempting unsuccessfully to wake him to get him to bed. The chief had seemed pleased to see Rothwell and had muttered in what he had no doubt meant to be a low voice that he had laid the groundwork but there was still much to be done.

“’Tis a pity we haven’t got a real body,” he had said then. “We ought to have kept Fergus.”

“A dummy will do, if anything will,” Rothwell said firmly.

“Aye, I expect it will. Well, I’ve clothing and such, but it requires to be stuffed, and I’m not so sure I can hang the thing m’self, for my head is spinning just now, but I don’t know where everyone else has gone.”

“Since it is well past midnight,” Rothwell had told him, “no doubt they have gone to bed.”

“Faith, I did tell them to go, for I didna want anyone being helpful and telling the fool I was spinning yarn when I recounted a tale or two of the olden days, so that’s all right, but you’ll have to help with the business now, if you will be so kind.”

Fortunately, since Rothwell had not been sure that he would be able to manage MacDrumin and get Goodall safely to bed, James came in shortly afterward from the north parlor, where he had retired to think, he said, after seeing Kate safely to her bedchamber. Between the two of them they had got Goodall upstairs and then persuaded MacDrumin to leave the rest to them; for, as Rothwell had expected, James entered with enthusiasm into the notion of playing a prank on the bailie, an attitude for which the earl had felt obligated to take him to task once they had stirred up the fire and begun stuffing their dummy.

James, unabashed, only grinned at him and recommended that he put a bit more straw into the sack they were to use for the head. “Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying this, Ned, for I won’t believe you. I tell you, too, I’ve never known you to be so human as what you’ve been these past weeks. Highland life agrees very well with you.”

“Does it? I’ll admit I like it well enough.” Seeing another question hovering on James’s tongue and certain he was about to ask why they had lingered in Glen Drumin so long, he said quickly, “How went your evening? You appear to have returned with all your parts intact at least.”

James chuckled. “Aye, she was pleased with me for taking her along. MacDrumin’s been telling her she cannot go back to the old place, and Dugald and her lads agree with him, which she’s been taking hard. It was bad enough for three women and a child to live there. It would be utter nonsense for one female and a boy to do so, and I told her so myself.”

“And still you came away with all your parts intact? There are men hereabouts who would like to know your secret.”

“There is no secret. I know Kate can take care of herself, but I can see that she’s heartily sick of it, too. I told her she ought to let someone else take on part of the burden for her.” There had been no doubt about the challenge in James’s voice then, and Rothwell had found himself hoping that his brother did not expect to take the pretty vixen back to London with them, as some sort of souvenir of his journey.

Maggie’s stifled laughter interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Goodall on the point of descending the stairs. The man still looked much the worse for wear and was leaning heavily on Matthew’s arm, but he looked determined, too.

MacDrumin leapt to his feet and hurried to meet him, saying in a tone of deep concern, “My dear sir, I hope you haven’t taken an illness under my roof. Let me send for a toddy!”

Goodall clapped a hand to his mouth and looked beseechingly at Chelton, who said, “He does not care for anything now, your lordship. He already suffers from a surfeit of whisky, I fear.”

“Faith, there is no such thing,” MacDrumin said flatly, taking Goodall’s arm and drawing him inexorably to the table, where Maggie obligingly scooted down her bench to make room. Shouting to a maidservant to fetch him sugar, boiling water, whisky, and the other things he would require to mix a toddy, MacDrumin did his best to soothe Goodall’s protests, saying, “Nay, sir, you’ll soon be feeling much more the thing, I promise you. There we are,” he added a few minutes later when the maid returned with the objects he had requested.

“Making a good toddy is an art,” he said, arranging the items with care. “First we want three squares of loaf sugar dissolved in boiling water … so … then a wineglass of whisky. Stir the whole with a silver spoon, add a glass of boiling water, and now, to crown this liquid edifice, we top it with a bit more whisky, stir it again, and there you go, Mr. Goodall. Drink that with slow and loving care.”

“Go on, Mr. Goodall,” Maggie said encouragingly. “Papa’s toddies are famous throughout all Scotland.”

“They are,” MacDrumin agreed complacently.

Doubtfully Goodall peered into the tumbler, from which a cloud of fragrant vapor was rising. He sniffed, then sniffed again, then lifted it to his lips and sipped carefully. His expression cleared a little, and he glanced at MacDrumin with near approval. “This is rather good, sir.”

“Rather? Faith, you’ll never taste better, and a good toddy will comfort anything that ails a man. Why, the only cure for a feverish cold hereabouts is to take your toddy to bed, put your hat at the foot of it, and drink toddies till you see two hats.”

Goodall winced, took another sip, and said, “I’ll admit my head begins to feel like it might stay attached to my body, but I cannot say I am looking forward to getting on a horse today.”

“And haven’t I been telling you there’s no cause to do any such thing?” MacDrumin said cheerfully. “You’re welcome to stay another night, lad, or as many as you like. There’s more good whisky to be drunk, after all.”

Goodall winced and looked around, and Rothwell saw wariness come into his eyes again even before he said, “As to that, Lord MacDrumin, I must be on my way. I’ve other glens to visit, after all, and while I’m certain I shan’t find anything amiss here, I’m a man who believes in doing his duty.”

“And so you shall, sir,” MacDrumin agreed. “Would you like me to send a pair of my lads along with you to see you don’t fall off that horse of yours?”

Goodall started to shake his head, evidently thought better of it, and said carefully, “No, thank you, I am not so bad off as that, I promise you. I shall do well enough on my own.”

They saw him ride out of the yard less than a quarter hour later, and Rothwell said with mock sternness to MacDrumin, “I told you your little prank would not frighten him off.”

“So you did,” MacDrumin agreed, but his eyes were twinkling with devilment. “The man puts a good face on it, I’ll grant you, but if you think he will dally in Glen Drumin today, I will be happy to fix a wager with you.”

“You think he will not search?”

“I know he will make a grand show of riding through the glen. But if he strays from the main path after what he saw from his window, I’ll own myself astonished. Not only will his head begin to ache again as soon as the first effects of the toddy leave him, but if the sight of that bag of straw hanging from a tree branch was enough to make him sick to his stomach, the memory of it will tease him for many a long day. And in any event, he won’t find anything today even if he does search. By the time our Mr. Goodall had begun his snoring last night, the train was well on its way. He won’t find a thing today.”

Rothwell was amused, but the incident reminded him rather forcibly of the dangers still inherent in MacDrumin’s illicit operation. It occurred to him again that, since the land was legally his and the tenants living on it his responsibility, their involvement in something so blatantly illegal was dangerous not just to themselves but could also prove to be extremely embarrassing, if not worse, to him.

The knowledge did not frighten him. He was a powerful man and did not doubt that he could find a means of extricating himself from any predicament arising from MacDrumin’s activities; however, he was not so certain that he could protect MacDrumin in the event that the extent of his smuggling should come to light. Something had to be done long before then, if only to protect the wily old reprobate from the consequences of his actions.

In the next few days they learned that Mr. Goodall was attending to his duty elsewhere; James spent more and more time supposedly sketching or painting—but most likely, in Rothwell’s estimation, with Kate MacCain and Ian; and Rothwell himself tried more than once to convince MacDrumin to put an end to the illegal operation and to urge the men to seek other, strictly legal employment. All he accomplished, however, was to discover the extent of the MacDrumin temper.

When he realized at last that the fiery chief really would prefer to die rather than pay a cent of government duty or tax on his whisky, Rothwell was tempted to point out that the decision was not really MacDrumin’s to make at all. Nor was it really MacDrumin’s place any longer to decide what his men should or should not do about their future security. But these thoughts entered his mind only to be swiftly dismissed.

Not only had MacDrumin made it plain that though he recognized Rothwell’s lawful authority he did not always choose to bow before it, but for once in his life Rothwell was loath to make his power felt. He liked MacDrumin, and he liked the people of the glen. They were fighters and survivors, as unlike his Derbyshire tenants as they could be but increasingly as important in their own right. The men and women of Glen Drumin were people he had come to care about, people he had begun to think of as his friends. He knew James felt the same way, and whatever other changes the future held, he did not want that state of affairs to alter for either of them.

Maggie’s demand to know if he would submit tamely to an order to uproot himself rather than stay to protect his home had not only struck a nerve but the image had lingered and grown. He knew that she had been right, that a man was inclined to grow as attached to the land on which he had been born as to the family that had produced him, or the one that he in turn produced. The thought that he would someday have a son strengthened these new beliefs, for he knew he would want his son to take the same pride in the land belonging to the Carsley family as he did.

But in order to keep the people of the clan on their ancestral lands, he would have to think of a way that was both legal and profitable. Smuggling, though profitable, was not an acceptable path to prosperity, but he doubted there were many, if any, profitable crops that would grow in the unforgiving Highland soil, and he was by no means sure that any cash crop would flourish there. That thought stirred others, however, and a germ of an idea took root and began to grow.