Enraptured

by Candace Camp

  “Dinna I tell you?” Coll asked with a chuckle.

  Such good humor was in his tone that Violet’s smile turned into a laugh as well. “Yes, you were right. Miss—McEwan, was it?—makes delicious scones. You are lucky to have such a generous friend.” She was blatantly fishing for information, but Violet was too curious to be polite. There seemed to be a number of women in Munro’s life.

  “You’re lucky, too. Sally is the cook at Duncally. You’ll eat her food every day. As do I—she takes pity on me, poor bachelor that I am, and lets me sup with them up at the house.”

  “Oh. I will see you at supper tonight then.” Violet suppressed the fizz of anticipation in her chest.

  “Nae. Mrs. Ferguson will serve you in the dining room. She’s a stickler for propriety, that one. She wouldna put a lady at the table in the servants’ hall.”

  “Why? I work for Lord Mardoun, the same as you.”

  “Ah, but your name has a Lady before it, and that makes all the difference.”

  “It shouldn’t.”

  “Aye?” His brows rose lazily. “Then why did you use it last night?”

  Violet grimaced. “You are right, of course. It was expedient. I did not want to lose the opportunity to explore the ruins.”

  “Now dinna turn to starch again. I dinna mean to insult you.”

  “I’m sorry. I was unaware I had ‘turned to starch.’ It sounds a most uncomfortable state. But I am reminded of my purpose here, which is not to sit about having tea and scones. I should be at the site.”

  “We’ll go, then.” Coll downed the rest of his tea in one swallow. But at that moment, a knock came at the door, and with a sigh Coll went to answer it.

  A young man stood on the porch. “Coll, I came to ask—” He glanced past Coll into the house and saw Violet. His eyes widened comically. “Oh! I dinna ken—I’m sorry, miss, uh, ma’am, um . . .” His face flooded with red, and he whipped off his cap, bobbing his head toward Violet.

  Following the young man’s gaze, Coll stiffened, his expression suddenly so guilty that Violet was sure he had merely confirmed the other man’s suspicions. Coll cleared his throat. “It’s not what—”

  A torrent of words rushed out of his visitor’s mouth, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, Coll, I never thought. I mean, I wouldn’t hae come if—it was just—” He twisted his cap between his hands.

  Violet covered her mouth to hide a smile as Coll said something short and sharp under his breath and stepped out the door, pulling it almost closed behind him. “What is it, Dougal? The sun’s barely up, man. Could you not wait?”

  Violet gave way to giggles as the two men talked on the porch. She did her best to pull her face back into sober lines when Coll stepped back into the room, but her effort clearly failed, given the scowl Coll directed at her.

  “You’re laughing?”

  She pressed her lips together, but somehow it only made her want to giggle more. “You looked—you looked so guilty!”

  “I dinna,” he grumbled. “I thought you would be embarrassed. But clearly I dinna need to worry about that.”

  “I can’t control what other people think about me, Mr. Munro. I gave up worrying about it long ago.”

  “But your reputation—”

  “Is abysmal. I think we have already established that I don’t act as a lady should. I am pushy and sharp-tongued and stubborn. What does it matter if people decide I’m a hussy as well? ’Tis you who should worry about blackening your reputation by associating with one such as I,” she said lightly, standing up. “Now, I think we really should be on our way, shouldn’t we?”

  He looked at her for a moment, and then, surprising her, he laughed. “Aye, I suppose we should.” Coll grabbed a coat from a hook on the wall and pulled it on as he ushered Violet out the door. “Easiest way to get there is to take the road.” He gestured through the tall gates. “There’s also a path from the gardens behind the house. It’s shorter, but a rougher walk. If you like, we can return that way.”

  He set out with a long, easy stride that ate up the distance. Violet had to hurry to keep up with him, but she was accustomed to doing whatever was necessary to put her on an equal footing with the men her uncle taught.

  “Do people often come to your door at dawn?” she asked, a little breathless but determined not to show it.

  “I suppose they must since I had two of them this morning.” Coll cast her a teasing glance, then slowed his pace.

  “There’s no reason to go at a snail’s pace for me,” Violet assured him, marching on at the same rate. Coll, looking amused, returned to his usual speed.

  “To answer your question, no, they are not always so early. But it comes with running Duncally.” He sighed. “Dougal’s wanting work for the winter while the croft’s idle. His wife’s going to have a bairn in April, he says, and they need the money. His da’s croft can’t support them all as it is.”

  “I would think they might have considered that before.”

  “Aye, of course.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “But reason isna what’s driving one at the time.” He stopped, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry. That’s not fit talk for a lady’s ears.”

  “I think we’ve established I’m a lady only by birth,” she retorted. “I’m not easily shocked.”

  The road leveled out, and Coll turned to the right. There before them were a group of long, weathered stones standing improbably on end.

  “Oh!” Violet stopped abruptly, her breath catching. “A ring!” She turned to Coll, her face radiant. “I didn’t realize! There is a circle of standing stones here as well!”

  She hurried toward the ancient rocks as if drawn by some unseen force, her steps quickening until she was almost running.

  4

  Violet stopped as she reached the first stone and took a long look around. “It’s magnificent!”

  The circle was almost intact, the stones placed at regular intervals with only one or two gaps. The long rocks were weathered and pitted, of some indeterminate color between white and gray, their arrangement slightly elliptical rather than perfectly round.

  “Lord Mardoun did not mention a ring. I had no idea.” She glanced at Coll, who stood watching her. Violet suspected that he found her enthusiasm over the stones peculiar; people outside Lionel’s scholarly circle usually did.

  “You are interested in the ring as well as the ruins?”

  “Oh, yes.” She nodded. “The circles were already standing here before the Romans reached Britain. So little is known about them. These antiquities interest me far more than the remains of the civilization the Romans left behind them. Such sites are uniquely ours. It is my hope that the ruins Lord Mardoun found will turn out to be that, as well.”

  “Have you visited other circles?”

  “Indeed. Stonehenge, of course, and some others. Ignorant and uncaring people have torn many stones down, and time and weather have taken their toll. But this ring is marvelous.” She swept her gaze over the area again. “I have never seen one with this configuration—these two stones outside the circle. Yet they are clearly set in a line with each other and with the ring. This one is most unique.”

  Violet went closer to the odd stone. Standing several feet from the edge of the circle, it was little more than half as tall as the other towering rocks. In the center was a round hole larger than a person’s fist.

  “It goes all the way through.” She bent to peer into the opening.

  “They call it the Troth Stone,” Munro offered, coming up beside her. “People would come here in the old days to handfast. That’s a sort of marriage ceremony from before there were churches.” He glanced down at her with a faintly inquiring look.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of handfasting.”

  “Some still come here to plight their troth. They stand on either side of the stone and clasp hands through the middle as they pledge to marry each other.”

  “Fascinating.” Violet regarded him with interest. “You seem very familiar with
the customs and traditions.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

  “Many people are unaware of that sort of history. Oral traditions are easily lost as one generation succeeds another.”

  Munro smiled faintly. “Not if you’re a Munro. My mother knew a lot, and she passed it on. But if you really want to know about this area, you canna do better than to talk to Aunt Elizabeth.”

  “Your aunt? Would she speak with me?”

  “Nothing she would like better. She knows every tale, every legend, true and fanciful alike. But she is not my aunt; we were just in the way of calling her that. She’s Lady Elizabeth Rose, and she lives at Baillannan.” He gestured in a southerly direction. “The great, gray house on the other side of the loch.”

  “I should very much like to meet her.”

  “I will ask her, then, if you’d like.”

  “I would appreciate it. It is . . . good of you to help.” Violet hesitated. “I must apologize, Mr. Munro.”

  “You must?”

  “Yes. I—it was rude of me last night not to thank you for helping me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He paused. “I was . . . rude, as well.”

  His eyes glinted at her, the faintest notion of a smile touching his lips. Violet glanced away quickly, making a vague, dismissive noise. It was better not to think about the “rude” payment Coll had demanded of her. She pretended not to notice that Coll continued to study her.

  “It comes hard to you, I think, thanking me,” he went on after a moment. “There’s naught wrong, you know, with needing help now and then.”

  “Easy to say when one is like you.”

  “A giant, you mean?” His eyes twinkled.

  He was making fun of her again. “It makes life considerably easier to be able to lift things and reach the highest shelf and look down at people instead of up.” She sighed, annoyed with herself for letting him goad her. “But that is not the point. I’m trying to apologize.”

  “And so you have.” He started walking again. “The ruins are this way.”

  “I must thank you, too, for letting me stay at Duncally.”

  “Och, you are full of obligations this morning. Swallowing all your medicine at once, eh?”

  “Yes.” Violet let her shoulders relax. “But I do appreciate it. Mrs. Ferguson was bent on turning me out.”

  “Mrs. Ferguson does not like bumps in her road.”

  “And I am a bump?”

  “Aye.” Amusement crinkled the corners of his bright blue eyes. “She wasn’t expecting you. It was her bedtime, so there she was in her dressing gown and nightcap, without the armor of her keys and watch and starched clothes. You did not quail before her. Worse, she was unsure where you fit. She found you bumptious, but you had the voice of a lady, and an English one at that. She feared offending a friend of the earl. So, little as she likes me, she decided the safest thing would be to let me make the decision and suffer the embarrassment if I was wrong.”

  “Why does she not like you? I’m sorry; that was rude again. Curiosity is my besetting sin.”

  “If curiosity is your worst fault, I would say you’re doing well. I dinna mind. I’d rather straight speech than dancing about uttering platitudes.”

  Violet relaxed even more. Coll’s size and masculinity were a bit overwhelming, and the laughter in his eyes did odd things to her insides, but it was a relief to feel she did not have to search for something acceptable to say. “We should get along famously, then.”

  “I hope so.”

  Violet looked up and met his eyes, and her momentary comfort fled.

  “As for Mrs. Ferguson’s dislike . . . well, she is not fond of many people. She considers my family especially improper. The Munros are an unruly lot. The women have never, um, conformed to the common rules of behavior, especially marriage.”

  Violet looked at him in surprise. Plain speech, indeed. She had no idea what to say in response to his statement. Was he implying that his birth was illegitimate?

  Coll’s face remained as emotionless as his voice. He shrugged. “No reason to hide it. You will hear the same from someone soon—most likely Mrs. Ferguson herself. She is of the opinion that Meg and I have gotten above our station.”

  That statement brought Violet to a halt. She stared at him. “Meg!”

  “My sister, Meg.”

  “You mean . . . the woman in that drawing?”

  “Aye. Meg married Mardoun.” The tone of his voice, the tilt of his chin, carried a challenge.

  Oddly, Violet’s initial response was not amazement that the earl had married not just a local lady, but a woman who was the sister of his estate manager—and born on the wrong side of the blanket as well. Rather, what swept her was a strangely giddying realization that the lovely woman in Coll’s drawing was not some beauty for whom Coll pined, but his sister. Violet let out a breathy laugh. “I thought . . .”

  “What?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Violet started walking again. “Then you are Lord Mardoun’s brother-in-law? No wonder Mrs. Ferguson deferred to your decision.”

  Coll gave a dismissive grunt. “Not from respect, I assure you. Like most, she thinks that is why he gave me the position.”

  “You were not the estate manager before?”

  “Nae.” He let out a short, humorless laugh. “I was not. I’ve always been a Baillannan man. It’s the Roses gave my ancestors their freehold. They ruled here for centuries; the Englishman’s lot are newcomers.”

  “I see.”

  “I doubt it.” He scowled.

  “I can see that you don’t like managing the estate.”

  “I don’t like people thinking that it’s because I’m Meg’s brother. I don’t like people saying I’ve gone over to the enemy.”

  “As that highwayman said last night.”

  “Who—oh, Will. I suppose that is what he’s become, the daft lad.” Coll shook his head. “His opinion is of no importance. But the truth is, Mardoun trapped me. He knew I wouldn’t refuse. Could not, for it meant I could end his clearances.”

  “Clearances?”

  “His manager was throwing crofters from their plots so he could turn the land to sheep. It was legal, for it was Mardoun’s property, but heartless. The way he did it was worse—burning them out of their homes, without a thought for what they would do after that. Bairns and old ones alike, didn’t matter if they were sick or dying.”

  “Lord Mardoun countenanced this?”

  “Not after he realized what MacRae was doing. I’ll give him that. Damon sent the man packing. But he needed a new manager, so he maneuvered me into doing it. Mardoun’s a canny one.” Coll sighed. “And I canna even continue to dislike the man, as he makes Meg happy, it seems.”

  “Ah. You are trapped.” Violet let out a little laugh.

  He gave her a rueful smile. “Foolish to rail against it when so many others would be ecstatic to have a roof over their head and work to do.”

  “That isn’t always enough.” Violet heard the revealing emotion in her own voice and pulled back. She gave him a brief, perfunctory smile. “We should press on to the site. No doubt you are eager to get back to your own work.”

  “Yes, of course.” He, too, reverted to formality.

  A silence fell on them as they walked across the meadow beyond the circle of stones. Violet regretted ending the temporary easiness between them. She invariably made a misstep in conversation. She was too blunt; she was too serious; the things she brought up were considered odd. It did not bother her usually, but she had been enjoying her conversation with Coll Munro.

  “There they are.” Coll’s voice brought Violet out of her thoughts, and she raised her head.

  In front of her, before the edge of the cliff, a series of low, flat stones jutted out of the sandy ground. Violet’s pulse quickened. She hurried forward and squatted down, heedless of her skirts, to examine the rocks stacked on one another. “A wall, not mortared. The stones are not cut, but of c
ourse that does not mean they are of ancient origin. No one knew of them before?”

  “Nae. Damon and Meg found them after a great storm blew the sand away and left the stones exposed. Before then, it was just an ordinary hillock that people have walked past—and over—for years. You can see there is a path down to the shore just ahead. It’s a common way to walk. No one’s heard of a house here, even the older folks. There aren’t even legends of anyone living here.”

  Violet began to brush away the dirt at the base of the stones, her movements small and deft, heedless of dirtying her gloves. “The wall goes farther down. It’s buried in the sand.”

  “There are more.”

  Violet lifted her head, looking in the direction he pointed, where more stones peeked above the ground. Rising, she walked over to them. “Perhaps this was an outer wall. A sort of fortress? It is at the most accessible path up from the ocean, where invaders would be likely to come.”

  “It’s at the mouth of the loch, too.” Coll nodded toward their right, where the land rose sharply to another cliff edge. “Loch Baille’s a sea loch, and that is the channel into it from the sea.”

  “A very strategic place.”

  “That would have had to be very long ago,” Coll surmised. “For the last few hundred years, the old castle was the guardian against sea raiders.”

  “Really? Is the castle close?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  He led her across the gradually rising land to where it ended in a dramatic, straight drop to the sea. He pointed to the loch opening out from the narrow inlet between cliffs.

  “There, on the other side of the loch, you can see some of the castle ruins. The original Baillannan. It stood for as long back as anyone remembers. They built the new house almost two centuries ago. That’s it, farther along.”

  Violet lifted her hand, shading her eyes. “Yes, I see it. Built when they no longer needed to be protected from marauding Viking bands.”

  “Aye, or other lairds.” Again that elusive glint of amusement lit his eyes. “Or reivers.”

  “Reivers?”

  “Thieves. Robbers.”