Amanda Scott (42 page)

“Really, sir, I think—”

“Parson, you won’t mind if I leave you to enjoy a second glass of whisky here by the fire, will you? I won’t be gone above a quarter hour or so.”

“Run along, lad, run along. I’ll just find myself a book to read.”

“Help yourself,” Duncan said. “Come along, Mary.”

“Your mother and Martha have everything in train, sir, I promise you,” she murmured as they left the room. “You should not leave Parson alone like this.”

“I am quite sure that my mother and Martha know what they are doing, but my wife clearly does not,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and urging her past the screens toward the stairway.

“The coppers, Duncan. Don’t forget them!”

“I won’t. Here, ma’am,” he said, giving them to the dowager. “I am taking Mary upstairs to see that she changes her clothes. She is soaking wet and does not seem to have enough sense to do anything about it without urging.”

“You see to her then,” Lady Balcardane said. “Martha and I have little left to do here, and then I will just sit quietly with him, I think, until they serve dinner.”

Mary opened her mouth to say that she would return to bear her company, but Duncan gave her a little push, and she shut it again until they reached the first landing. Then she said, “Really, sir, I can take care of myself. I am not nearly as wet as you seem to think. I had my cloak on over my dress before, and—”

“Go,” he said, giving her another little push. “We’ve had enough sickness in this place. I don’t want my wife catching her death from the cold.”

She did not attempt to argue more until they had reached her dressing room. Then she turned, and with hands on her hips and arms akimbo, she said bluntly, “Do you intend to undress and dress me yourself, too?”

With rueful smile, he said, “I dare not, lass. I’ve too many things to do to let you distract me more than you already have.”

“Then give me credit, sir,” she said evenly. “I admit that my gown was still damp before, and has grown a trifle more so. I’ll also admit that I’ve grown chilly, but I did not like to leave your mother alone with only Martha to support her.”

“You told me to change
my
clothes,” he pointed out. “You’ve got to look to yourself, too, lass.”

“You had been in the water,” she reminded him. “You borrowed a jacket, a hat, and perhaps even a shirt; but your breeches, undergarments, and hair were still soaked. I know I must take care, Duncan. I am not a simpleton. But remember, sir, you promised to treat me like your partner, and not simply issue orders for my guidance and protection. Before you can keep that promise, you must be willing to let me accept the consequences of my decisions if they prove faulty or foolish.”

“Turn around, Mary,” he said.

A little shiver shot up her spine. “Why?”

“So that I can unbutton your gown for you. You will be that much quicker out of it. Although,” he added gently, “you would be well served if I were to suggest that you already have consequences to face as a result of decisions you have made.”

“What decisions?”

He turned her so that her back was to him as he said, “Specifically the one that took you away from the castle today with only Pinkie to bear you company.”

She could not tell from his tone if he was angry, but she knew that a simple explanation would serve better than revealing her exasperation. Accordingly, she said, “In fact, Wull was with us until we saw in what danger the coach lay. He had a pistol, too. Jock was hesitant to let me go, sir, but since we expected to meet his lordship before we had gone far, he agreed. Perhaps I ought to have gone back with Wull when he ran for help. Would you prefer that I had not stayed?”

“You know I am grateful that you were there,” he murmured. His warm breath caressed her neck, and she knew he meant to kiss her.

Impulsively, she turned, hugging him tightly when she felt his strong arms close around her. To her surprise, she felt him tremble.

“There was a time when I thought I disliked him,” he said. “I never felt really close to him, and never expected to feel such bereavement at his death. I was wild with grief when Ian was killed. This is different, but still …”

“I know,” she said, holding him tight and wishing she could comfort him the way she was able to comfort Chuff or Pinkie. “A brother is a brother, and very dear, but one’s father is the source of one’s own existence, sir. His mortality reminds you of your own far more forcibly than Ian’s did. Thus his death strikes deep.”

“You’re a kind lass, Mary, and a good wife,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “I know you can never love me like you loved Ian, but I want you to know that I have no complaint and think myself most fortunate to have married you.”

“Duncan, I—”

“No, let me finish, because much as I want to, I cannot linger, and I must say this lest you think any rules have changed. Your good opinion becomes increasingly important to me, lass, and I promise I’ll do what I can to treat you as you desire, but your new status may lead you to dismiss some of those rules. You say you’ll accept any consequence, but MacCrichton and Breck still pose too much of a threat to your safety for me to risk letting you put yourself in harm’s way. Therefore, you will stay inside our wall, lass, or face the consequence of answering to me.”

Kissing her lightly, he left before she could think of an appropriate retort. Since she had hoped he would discuss his feelings at greater length, he had caught her off guard again. Not only had he apparently dismissed her attempt to soothe him but he had instantly contradicted his promise to respect her abilities by ordering her yet again to obey his command without question.

Taking her warmest gown from the wardrobe, she pondered her lack of outrage. By rights, she ought to be indignant, even angry, but she was not. Having seen the closed look on his face as he turned away, she believed she understood him better than he understood himself, for she had seen that look once before, after Ian’s death. It was as if Duncan had closed and bolted the shutters to his soul. Before, she had assumed that he was just a hard man devoid of human feeling, but she knew now that she had been wrong. Duncan felt things as deeply as anyone she knew. He simply did not allow others to share his feelings, or exploit them.

As she stepped out of the damp dress, she considered this new viewpoint of her husband, and she considered, too, one of the things he had said before issuing his command. Had she loved Ian too much ever to love another man?

Ian had been a delightful, lovable laddie, to be sure—a gentle, caring soul, whose thoughts dwelt more frequently on birds and other wild creatures than on his family or friends. He had loved her, certainly, and she had loved him and had been devastated by his death, but had she really expected to marry him? Remembering that she had considered the point once before, she remembered, too, the circumstances, and wondered if sexual passion might have overridden the truth.

The more she thought, the more certain she became that her instinct that night had been correct. Ian’s dreams of marriage had always seemed a bit fantastic, and although she had listened to them complacently, just as she had listened to his complaints about the unfeeling ways of his father and brother, she could not recall sharing his anger or his resentment at seeing his dream thwarted. In truth, she had discounted his complaints in much the same manner that she had discounted Neil’s.

It was a shock to realize that she had ever viewed Ian in the same light as Neil, but she saw now that each of them had railed against his particular situation in life without doing anything about it. Both had been youngsters then, of course, and just as it had startled her to realize that Neil had grown up, so did it shock her now to realize that she had never thought of Ian as a man, only as a dearly loved laddie.

In contrast, she was finding it easier to imagine Duncan as a boy. Before, she had not thought of him as ever having been youthful or (until recently) lovable. He had been only Balcardane’s black, rather dangerous shadow; yet, when she tried to imagine being married to Ian instead of to Duncan, her imagination boggled. Not only would Ian have failed to recognize that Ewan could prove dangerous, but he would have greeted proof of that danger just as he had greeted any opposition. He would have railed against it, but he would have done nothing to counteract it.

As these thoughts paraded through her mind, Mary slipped into the fresh gown. Its thick blue wool felt soft against her skin, but the snug bodice boasted a line of tiny cloth-covered buttons all the way up the back. She had managed the upper ones, and several near the waist, but the ones between defeated her and she was just about to ring for Ailis when a door opened in the adjoining bedchamber. Peeking from the dressing-room doorway, she was surprised to see Pinkie.

The child’s lower lip trembled, and her big blue eyes welled with tears.

Mary hurried toward her. “What is it, darling? What’s amiss?”

“Chuff said ye
will
go away,” Pinkie wailed. “He said he’s tae go wi’ ye, tae help look after the horses, but I’m tae stay here. Och, mistress, I be afeared tae stay here without Chuff, and without ye or Himself tae look after me! What if the auld laird’s spirit comes tae fetch me? What’ll I do then?”

“Martha and Jessie will—”

“Nay then, they’ll only tell me tae stop mumpin’, and what can they do against the laird’s spirit anyway? It fair shoogles up me internals tae think on it. It’ll tak’ me away, it will!” With that, she cast herself, sobbing, into Mary’s arms.

Holding her almost as tightly as she had held Duncan, Mary murmured, “There now, no one will take you away, Pinkie. If Chuff is to go with us, then you simply must come, too.”

“But Chuff said Himself said I canna go, that Chuff can go only because he can mak’ himself useful.”

“You shall make yourself useful, too,” Mary said firmly. “Indeed, I will tell Himself that I have urgent need of you.”

Her sobs hushing at once, Pinkie pulled back to look up into Mary’s face. “But what can I do?”

“You can help me,” Mary said firmly. “You can be my maid.”

“But Ailis—”

“Ailis was never meant to go,” Mary said truthfully. “We will take few if any servants because his lordship—Himself, that is—will want to take men at arms, and this time of year even an earl’s household will not willingly house a host of guest servants. If Lady Balcardane were going, we would share a maid, but I think she will stay here now, so we are more likely to carry extra food than extra servants.”

“I dinna eat much,” Pinkie said, “but I dinna ken a maid’s tasks, neither.”

“You can learn all you need to know,” Mary assured her. “You can begin now by buttoning the buttons I could not reach by myself, and do it quickly, dear, for I must get back down to her ladyship. Oh, and do not say anything about this plan, Pinkie—not even to Chuff—until I have had a chance to tell Himself.”

Attending efficiently to the buttons, Pinkie said doubtfully, “D’ ye think he’ll allow it, mistress? Chuff said—”

“Never mind what Chuff said,” Mary told her. “I’ll deal with Himself. First we must attend properly to his papa’s funeral, but then we will put sadness behind us for a time to welcome a new soul into this world. We’ll have a fine time at Inver House, Pinkie. You’ll see.”

T
HE NEXT EVENING, IN
the candlelit great hall at Shian Towers, Ewan leaned back in his armchair at the head of the huge table and glowered at his unwelcome guest. “I don’t know why you’ve come back,” he growled. “I don’t want you.”

“I bring news, my lad,” Allan Breck said, casting his coat and scarf onto a bench and beginning to remove his gloves. He looked around the hall, adding, “I don’t know why you don’t set some of your folks to furbishing up this place. No wonder Mary didn’t want to stay.”

“One does not do much furbishing without gelt,” Ewan said, lifting his mug. “Help yourself to whisky if you want it. What’s this news of yours?”

“Balcardane is dead.”

Frowning, Ewan said, “Is he now? Do you expect me to attend his funeral?”

“I did think we might take advantage of the upset, but I’ve learned something that will do us more good than that. Our little dove might well come right to us.”

“What the devil are you talking about?”

Breck was pouring himself some whisky, and he did not reply at once. When he had filled a mug for himself, he moved toward the fire, saying critically, “You don’t need much gelt to see this floor polished up, or the soot cleaned from the stones round the fireplace. What sort of weaponry have you got here?”

“What do you think? Soldiers from Stalker searched the whole place before I got back from France. It’s a wonder they didn’t take those lances off the wall.”

“Where are their tips?”

Ewan shrugged. “My father carried them with him when we left. He said lances could be fashioned anywhere, but steel tips would be hard to come by.”

“Well, you can buy new ones when we find the treasure.”

“Generous of you. Just how much of it do you intend to leave me?”

Breck smiled, moving to put one foot up on the bench beside the table.

“I wish you would stop looking at me as an enemy, Ewan. I want only to help you find it. Duty demands that you contribute your fair share of it to the cause, of course, and I mean to see that you do, but first we must find the damned thing.”

Ewan sneered at him. “After that, friend, I’ll decide for myself what to do with my own treasure. You won’t even get the chest open without me.”

Breck raised his eyebrows. “What makes you so sure?”

“The chest itself. Have you ever seen an Armada chest?”

Frowning, Breck said, “I don’t know. Have I? What’s one like?”

“It’s iron-bound,” Ewan said, “and the locking mechanism in the lid looks like clockwork. Without the right key, no man can open it.”

“And where is this key?”

“You don’t really expect me to tell you that,” Ewan said, smirking. Having not found the chest, he had not yet had occasion to look for the key, but he knew right where his father had always hidden it. To divert Breck from plaguing him over its whereabouts, he said curtly, “You said the lass will come to us. How so?”