Amanda Scott (49 page)

“With Allan dead, we’ll never learn the truth about James of the Glen now, either,” she said sadly.

“No,” he agreed. “Where is your cloak?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Are we leaving now?”

“Aye, I want to get you home before dark.”

“We will never make Balcardane so quickly.”

“We are going to Dunraven,” he said. “It is time you saw the one place that has always been mine. I’ve got boats waiting for us at the dock.”

“Where did the funeral boats come from, Duncan?”

“From all around the loch,” he said, grinning. “While Bardie fixed me up, Neil got Serena and her wench on their way and then he, the lads, and I devised our plan. Bannatyne rode to Stalker to get Patrick and his lads, and explained their part to them. The rest of the men went in search of boats and the wherewithal to turn them into a funeral parade. We weren’t sure it would work, because the weather has been so unpredictable, but I must say that I’m glad it did.”

“Why didn’t you just leave it to Patrick, since you knew who attacked you?”

He smiled. “Because I didn’t want to leave it to Patrick. I knew MacCrichton would try to keep you alive, hoping you could find his treasure for him, but I could not be certain he would not use you as a shield or threaten to murder you if he saw soldiers preparing to attack Shian. Our little diversion allowed us to take him by surprise, which kept him from thinking much at all. Now, come along, lass. We can talk all you want later.”

Leaving Neil and Bannatyne behind to supervise the clearing up at Shian (with Bardie’s sharp-tongued assistance), Duncan took Mary and the children to the dock, where they found that one of the boats had been stripped of its funereal decorations and made ready to carry them across the loch.

The sun was shining on new fallen snow that blanketed the land, and it sparkled, too, on the bright blue waters of the loch. A stiff breeze blew them across to the southern shore in no time.

“What do you think of it?” Duncan asked when they stood at the entrance of the tall, lime-washed castle, looking up at the Campbell arms carved into the lintel.

She smiled at the pride in his voice. “You want to live here, don’t you?”

“Only part of the year, and only if my wife does.”

“Then, let’s go in and find out how well she likes it.” As she linked her arm with Duncan’s, Mary knew she would live with him wherever he chose.

Chuff’s eyes were big with amazement. He stood looking at the castle with his hands on his narrow hips. “It is bigger than Shian,” he said.

“Aye, but it isna so beautiful,” Pinkie said loyally.

“Perhaps not,” Duncan said, smiling at them, “but its mistress is the bonniest lady in all Scotland, and I love her with all my heart.” Looking into Mary’s eyes, he said softly, “I do, you know.”

“I know,” she said. “That knowledge sustained me when they put me in that horrid pit, that … that and my love for you, my lord, and one more thing, too.”

Duncan caught her tight in his arms. “Are you sure you love me, lass?”

“Aye, sir, and there is something else you should know.”

“That’s all I want to know, sweetheart. It is everything to me.”

Chuff said suspiciously, “Are ye going tae kiss our Mary?”

“I am,” Duncan said, suiting action to words.

Mary held his head when he would have straightened. “There truly is something else you should know, sir, something I should have told you before now.” Then, whispering into his ear, so he would hear the news privately first, she told him the secret she had been hugging to herself.

He held her away, looking into her eyes, his own alight with excitement. “Are you sure, lass?”

“I shouldn’t be sure yet, but I am. Perhaps it’s the Sight, or—Duncan!”

He swept her up and swung her around, laughing his delight, but then he put her down again, and stood looking at her as if he could not get enough of looking.

“Are ye going tae kiss our Mary again?” Chuff asked with disgust.

Without bothering to reply, Duncan caught Mary around the waist again and kissed her thoroughly, an exercise to which she responded with enthusiasm.

Chuff groaned, but Pinkie abandoned her long habit of always agreeing with him, and giggled, saying, “It’s a fine thing, it is, for Himself tae kiss our Mary!”

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed
Highland Treasure.
Since many of you continue to express interest in the history behind the romance, you may be as interested as I was to learn that there really was a Black Duncan Campbell. Moreover, he actually built Barcaldine Castle in Argyll, the castle that provided inspiration for much of
Highland Secrets
and
Highland Treasure,
and provided architectural detail for Shian and Dunraven, both of which are otherwise purely fictional. Balcardane Castle is patterned after Huntly, however. The pit at Shian is from Castle Stalker.

Originally, I was intrigued by the name Barcaldine, but I did not want to use the real castle or the name, because I could discover very little about it. So the Balcardane earldom was born in
Highland Secrets.
Then, this fall, my husband and I went to Scotland and discovered that Barcaldine had recently been opened to the public. The present heir and his family want to keep it in the family, and have refurbished it and opened it in hopes of making enough money to keep it going. It’s a wonderful place, but imagine my amazement when I came across a portrait of Black Duncan Campbell on one of the walls there and discovered that he had built the original castle. Here I had already written one book with my Black Duncan as a character, and was well into another with him as my hero.

The real Black Duncan was Sir Duncan Campbell of Glenorchy. His lands in the late 16th century stretched from Barcaldine (on the site of Dunraven Castle in
Highland Treasure)
to Taymouth Castle on Loch Tay in the east. He also built a string of seven other castles, including Kilchurn on Loch Awe (also open to the public). The Barcaldine Castle guidebook describes him as “a very vigorous and forceful character but also an accomplished man, having travelled abroad, patronised art and literature, and instigated tree planting schemes on his lands.”

The Armada trunk described in
Highland Treasure
was a forerunner of the modern safe. Many of them still exist, and at Fyvie Castle, when the key was misplaced, it took modern, skilled locksmiths weeks to figure out how to open it.

As for James of the Glen, the controversy rages on. His cadaver fell to the ground in January 1755, and the authorities ordered that the bones be reconnected by wire clips and the remains restored to the gibbet. It remained so for many more years while the skeleton slowly disintegrated. We visited the site of his memorial, the site of the murder of Crown factor Colin Glenure, and Glenure’s home.

Allan Breck Stewart is known to have escaped to France after the Appin murders, and many suspect that he returned to Scotland at least once afterward. But then he disappeared. One legend has it that he fought against Wolfe’s troops in Canada in 1758, but there is no proof of this. Other evidence exists that suggests he lived in France to a ripe old age under a pseudonym. It is just as likely, however, that he disappeared forever after that next visit to Scotland, a victim of his own felonious nature.

If you enjoyed
Highland Treasure
and would like to read more books of a similar nature, please look for
Highland Secrets
(Zebra, October ’97) and
Highland Fling
(Pinnacle, February ’95) at your local bookstore, or ask them to order the books for you. Also, in February 1999, please watch for
The Mayfair Madam
(Zebra), which details what happens when Lady Letitia Deverill—whom some readers will remember as a child in
Dangerous Angels
(Pinnacle, January ’97)—inherits a house in Mayfair that turns out to be a brothel.

Letty is all grown up now, but she still has her pet monkey, Jeremiah, and her savoir faire. She needs all she possesses of the latter to deal with monkeyshines, mayhem, and with Justin, Viscount Raventhorpe, who is not only the wealthiest man in London but a gentleman who believes that every woman needs a strong man to guide her. His great-aunts, two eccentric but surprisingly discreet elderly ladies, are Letty’s inherited tenants in the best little house in Mayfair.

Determined to show that she can manage her own affairs, Letty soon finds herself faced with the need to protect the old ladies (and herself) from social ruin, and—by the way—to prevent the assassination of Britain’s new monarch, the young Queen Victoria. It’s proving to be a fun story to write, to say the least. I think you will like it.

Sincerely yours,

A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by
Library Journal
with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for
Lord Abberley’s Nemesis
, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

Turn the page to continue reading from the Highland Series

The Scottish Highlands

March 25, 1765

P
ENELOPE MACCRICHTON SAT STILL
, scarcely daring to breathe, as she watched the tall, broad-shouldered figure approach through the dense, mist-laden woods. A giant charcoal-gray deerhound kept pace like a floating shadow of Satan beside him.

The figure was that of a young man, large, handsome, and powerfully built, armed with a dirk and wearing a gray-and-muted-green-plaid kilt. Long, raven’s-wing black hair flowed to his shoulders, waving lightly with his movements. His bare feet were thick with mud, and his fierce scowl made him look puzzled and angry, but he did not frighten Penelope. She had seen the figure and his dog before; not many times, but often enough to make them both familiar to her.

Neither man nor dog paid heed to the thick-growing trees or dense shrubbery; however, as she knew from long experience, such barriers presented no more obstacle to this pair than they would to any other ghosts.

The man’s mouth looked large and cruel. His eyes were narrowed and flintlike, as if in anger or distress; but as always, both the figure and the huge dog beside him seemed unaware of her presence, and neither made a sound as they passed. That the ground beneath their feet was damp from melted snow, and covered with the thick carpet of leaf mold that had accumulated over centuries might account for the silence of their footsteps. Nonetheless, branches reaching out from every direction would have rustled as they brushed against most passersby. Thus the silence of the two was particularly eerie and unnatural.

The sudden, rippling
tirrirri-ripp
of a snow bunting diverted Penelope’s attention. Glancing toward the sound, she saw the little black-and-white bird hopping about on the ground nearby, searching for insects and seeds. When she looked back, the manly figure and that of the giant deerhound had vanished.

Penelope did not try to follow them, knowing that such an attempt would prove useless, and knowing, too, that the pair would have vanished even had she been looking right at them. They were not of this earth, that pair. Nevertheless, she felt a glow of satisfaction as she rose from the fallen log where she had been sitting and brushed off her skirt. She had walked this way on purpose, hoping to see them, like paying a call on old friends.

It had been months since the last time, before winter had set in and cast its lingering blanket of white over the Highlands. Spring had been in the air for nearly a fortnight now, but it was a wet spring, requiring the children to stay indoors more than they had liked, which meant that Penelope had had little time to call her own. Mary, Countess of Balcardane, was kind though, for her own dependent childhood had taught her to understand as few others of the nobility did the burden that gratitude laid upon the grateful. She was careful never to take unfair advantage of Penelope’s delight in the three children of Balcardane.