Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  Were the faeries declaring war on him?

  Shane reached for the whisky, not even thinking to object when both Abigail and Fiona held their glasses out to him.

  Thanks to Shane’s quick thinking and the fact his ship’s cook had not gone to the local tavern, the evening meal turned out quite well. They lacked fresh bread since the flour mess Abigail worked with was declared a total loss by the cook, but the fish chowder was hot, the potatoes properly boiled and nothing was burnt.

  The twins ate in total silence. Abigail felt a twinge of sympathy for them since they were waiting for the proverbial ax—in this case, Shane’s wrath—to fall. He too remained quiet, which only prolonged the girls’ misery.

  Abigail knew they had meant no harm. She intended to come to their defense, if she could just remember what she had planned to say. Her mind was a bit fuzzy around the edges thanks to the nip of whisky she’d had. Or had it been two?

  She couldn’t rightly remember how many. Fiona had found the bottle beside Janet’s cooking sherry when they’d first attempted cooking a week ago. Abigail knew her father’s chef often added sherry to dishes so she assumed whisky was an alternative.

  Fiona had been more speculative. Her brothers often had a dram, although they’d never allowed the women to partake. Since the house was currently vacant of men—Jacob wisely taking his meals at the public house and Albert at home caring for Janet—it seemed the perfect time to find out what having wee dram was about.

  After the initial coughing, choking and feeling like their stomachs were on fire, they decided the warm, glowing aftermath was quite pleasant.

  And it made the food more palatable.

  Shane laid his fork down and crossed his arms. “’Tis time this family has a talk and comes to terms with what happened.”

  The twins laid their utensils down also and kept their eyes on their plates. “We are sorry,” Caitlin whispered.

  “We dinna mean to hurt anyone,” Caylin added.

  “Lasses,” Shane said quietly. “Look at me when ye speak.”

  Remorsefully, they turned their eyes upward.

  “They really are re…repentable. I mean, repentant. I think…think they have been…chas…chastised enough.” There. Abigail was proud she’d remembered what she’d intended to say.

  “We have all talked to them—” Shauna started.

  Shane held his hand up for silence. “I am nae going to flog the lasses. They deserve a tongue lashing for certain, but I think that has already been done.” He turned to his sisters. “What did ye learn from this?”

  “To nae trick people,” Caitlin said. As Shane waited, she added, “Especially if they have weapons.”

  Caylin nodded solemnly. “And to nae act like children anymore.”

  Abigail thought she saw Shane’s face soften, but his voice remained firm. “Good. Then the two of ye will assume Janet’s tasks until she returns.”

  Their eyes went round. “Ye want us to cook?”

  “Nae,” Shane replied. “Not the cooking.”

  “We can handle that,” Abigail interjected, a warm, fuzzy feeling floating through her brain. “Actually, since Fiona and I discovered the effects of spirits, the food has become much better.”

  Shane made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh but turned into a cough as he cleared his throat. “I will enlist my man for this week while we are in port. Perhaps by then, we can hire someone to do the cooking.”

  The look of alarm Shauna had given Abigail faded. “I will assist the man. Perhaps I can take over the cooking.”

  “An excellent idea,” Shane said a little too quickly.

  Abigail lifted her chin. “You do not think I can cook?”

  He made another strangled sound and then recovered. “Why do ye nae manage the household as ye did in London? I can talk to Albert about the office—”

  “He has his hands full helping Janet,” Abigail interrupted. “Besides, there are no servants to manage.”

  “Nae? Well, ye can start with these two.” Shane gestured to the twins. “They can sweep the floors and clean. I will nae have Janet returning to a filthy house.” He turned his head as Kyla and Jacob could be heard entering the foyer. “I will speak to Jacob about extra duties and ye can do the same to Kyla. Just because she is a lady’s maid doesnae mean she canna help in other areas.”

  “She already assists the three of us,” Fiona said. “She will nae be happy.”

  “She assists ye with dressing,” Shane replied. “That doona take all day.”

  “And our bathes.” Fiona snickered. “She has a way of persuading the footmen to bring the water up the stairs while it is still hot.”

  “One of the hipbaths can be returned to the kitchen and the problem will be solved.” Shane frowned. “’Tis nae London here. We are Scots. We fend for ourselves. A maid works where she is told. If Kyla doona want to do that—.”

  “I will speak with her,” Abigail interjected before Shane could return to the subject of her working in the office. “You are quite right. We all need to work together until Janet, Johnny and George are able to return. Everything will be fine.”

  “I hope ye are right.” Shane stood. “I will get Jacob to get a hipbath down before he retires for the night.”

  “The one in the twins’ rooms will be best,” Abigail said quickly before Shane offered to bring their tub down. “It is the closest and the girls tend not to tarry.”

  Abigail had plans for the tub in their chamber—with Shane in it, of course.

  Handling grouchy, querulous sailors was an easy sail in zephyr winds compared to the disorderly chaos his home had become. Never in his entire life had Shane been beset by so much discord at one time.

  It had to be the faeries.

  Shane glanced across the worn leather seat of the rented hack at Abigail. She was a picture of innocence this morning—hair captured neatly at her nape, hands folded in her lap as she gazed out the window at streets she’d seen a dozen times before. Even the modest working gown of grey wool spoke of demureness.

  Could his wee wife have made a pact with the fae? She did seem a bit touched in the head at times. If the pixies were at work, it might explain why two well-trained warriors would have a go at each other in tight quarters where no danger loomed and sustain injuries. It might even explain how Janet popped out in the middle of the fray and toppled down the stairs, causing Albert to have to care for her. Could the fickle fingers of fate be at work to make Shane stay home and spend time with his wife?

  The question was a moot point. He had a shipping business to run. But from now on, Abigail would ride to work in a carriage. Shane was taking no chances of further unforeseen incidences happening while she walked to work, even if she were escorted. He needed no additional troubles.

  As the hack pulled up to the docks, Abigail turned to Shane as he was about to open the door. “There is something you should know.”

  Resting his hand on the door handle, he wondered what new problem she would introduce. Things couldn’t get much worse. “What is it?”

  “I glanced at the ledgers one day while Richard was out on the pier.”

  Shane dropped his hand. “And?”

  “It looked like your profits were down this past month.”

  “Maybe all the accounts have nae been posted.”

  “That could be,” Abigail replied. “I did not have much time to study the entries.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Why nae? Ye should have access to anything in the office. Does Richard keep them locked up?”

  “Not exactly. He keeps them in a drawer in his desk. He has made it clear I am to leave his desk alone.”

  “I can take care of that.”

  “Please do not say anything to him.” Abigail twisted her hands in her lap. “He already resents having a woman working with him. I do not want him thinking I run to you with tales just because you are my husband.”

  “I own the company. I expect any employee to keep me informed. H
as Reneau mistreated ye?”

  “No. He is civil.”

  “He needs to respect ye as well. I can make that clear to him.”

  “No. Please do not say anything. You cannot force him to respect me. I do not want to make the situation worse. I just wanted you to know about the books.”

  “I will go over them before we leave.” Shane studied his wife as he escorted her inside. She looked worried and tense. He really would have preferred she stay home and organize his household. The sooner Janet healed and Albert could also return to work, the better. Forget about needing a butler. For the time being, Shane would make sure Jacob understood he was not to leave Abigail out of his sight while she was at work.

  A little over an hour later, Shane looked up from the ledgers and frowned. His profits were down this past month by about ten percent, although he could find no missing posts. Entries for each shipment were duly recorded.

  “Is everything in order, sir?” Richard asked.

  Shane closed the ledgers. “It appears to be.”

  Richard smiled, although it reminded Shane more of a wolf baring its teeth. There was something about the Frenchman he didn’t trust. He decided he would pay a visit to David later. The sooner Shane could remove Abigail from Reneau’s presence, the better. Meanwhile. Shane would have to depend on his wife.

  The feeling unsettled him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “We are ready to leave when ye and Shane are,” Caitlin said from the doorway the next morning as Abigail was finishing her breakfast in the dining room.

  “I will join you in the parlor in a moment. Shane should be ready soon.”

  Abigail smiled as the twins left. The next shipment of kelp wouldn’t be dry for a few more days, so Shane had time to spend at home. Since Albert was gone and two of the footmen were still in a hospital ward, Shane had announced he’d be spending nights at the townhouse. Abigail’s heart had leapt wildly at the thought until he’d put a cot in the back room of the ground floor—supposedly to guard from who-knew-what kind of villains. He’d given her a peculiar look and mentioned the accidents seemed very strange coincidences—as if he thought someone, or something, had deliberately intended for things to go wrong.

  Abigail certainly hoped he wasn’t harboring thoughts of the supernatural again. She really didn’t think Shane was a superstitious man, as some sailors were, but he did have an odd penchant for believing in faeries and the witch-crone person.

  As if such things existed.

  Still, having Shane in the townhouse at night was a step closer to having him in their bedroom. And from there, hers was a very human goal with a very human outcome—and one she intended to achieve. Abigail remembered the night he’d undone her dress. She didn’t know exactly how to undress a man—did one start with the shirt or boots? And when did one advance to undoing trousers?—but she thought it would be grand fun to try.

  The object of her fantasy came into view. Her breath caught at the sight of him. Clean-shaven, his black hair still damp from his morning ablutions—unfortunately, he performed those in the back room as well—he was an arresting figure. His snowy shirt, open scandalously at the throat, contrasted with his sun-bronzed skin and revealed a dusting of black hair on his chest. A chest she remembered very well from her encounter in his ship’s cabin. Maybe she would start undressing him with the shirt…

  “Are ye feeling well? Your face is flushed.”

  “I—ah, yes. I am fine. The twins are waiting for us, but if you have not eaten—”

  “I had something earlier.”

  Abigail laid down her napkin and rose. Perhaps she would get up earlier tomorrow as well. “I hope the twins enjoy seeing the castle.”

  He gave her an amused look. “I doubt it, but right now they’re willing to comply. ’Tis a good time for a history lesson.”

  Shane proved himself right. The twins seemed suitably impressed with the idea that Castle Rock, upon which the sprawling fortress was perched high above the city, was an ancient dormant volcano. However, they were clearly bored once inside the castle grounds. Abigail wondered if the reason was because they’d grown up in a medieval castle—albeit it much smaller—themselves.

  Still, she couldn’t help but exclaim over the small, simple chapel of St. Margaret. Its tiny space was actually divided in two by a carved stone arch. Although it was bare, one side had probably been for the altar and chancel, the other part a nave for the royal family. To be inside stone walls this ancient was mindboggling, at least to her.

  Shane smiled at her excited reaction. “’Tis the oldest building in Edinburgh. Queen Margaret’s son, David, had it dedicated to her in 1130.”

  “Amazing.”

  “What is truly amazing is such a place was actually used to house gunpowder in the 1500s.”

  “That is sacrilegious.”

  “Aye. Practically the same thing happened to Sinclair’s Rosslyn Chapel,” Shane said. “Cromwell used it as a stable. Rosslyn Castle was also attacked.”

  “When was it built?”

  “The original about the same time as King David built his mother’s chapel.”

  “I had no idea. Your ancestors were here—and actually knew the kings Shakespeare wrote about?”

  Shane shrugged. “Probably. In those times, a castle would have been a necessity for any lord to survive. The first castle at Rosslyn no longer stands. The present ruins only date from the early 1300s.”

  “Only? I should love to see them.”

  “I can take ye there.”

  “Do we have to go?” Caitlin asked, breaking into the conversation while Caylin tried to stifle a yawn.

  Abigail looked at Shane and smiled. “I think your sisters have had enough history for one day.”

  “Aye,” he replied and then looked at the twins. “Ye do nae have to go.”

  “Oh, good,” Caitlin said. “Tomorrow Caylin and I want to—”

  “Tomorrow Shauna will be expecting ye to write a report on what ye learned today,” Shane cut in. “Of course, Abigail and I could wait until ye finish and take ye with us.”

  “Nae,” Caitlin said.

  “’Tis fine,” Caylin quickly added.

  Abigail’s heart fluttered. Tomorrow she was actually going to be alone with Shane? Hmmm…the possibilities were endless…

  Shane wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed when Fiona decided to join them the next morning. From Abigail’s distressed look, he knew she had wanted to spend the day alone with him—and it would have been easier to talk historical details without worrying whether Fiona became bored. Although the more he thought about it, perhaps Fiona was a godsend—or maybe the faeries were finally siding with him—since he might have been tempted to use the opportunity of visiting the ruins and chapel to tell Abigail too much about his role with the Templars.

  The carriage ride to the small village of Roslin took a little over an hour. When they disembarked on the narrow, steep road in front of the chapel, Abigail looked up in awe at the Gothic stone structure with its carved window arches and many turrets. “It is absolutely beautiful.”

  “And we will go inside later. First, I want us to look at the castle ruins.” Shane gestured down the hill to a path leading through an ancient cemetery. “Some of these tombstones have no dates, but we know a small chapel was built earlier than the one that now exists.”

  “Was that chapel built because of Queen Margaret?” Abigail asked as they continued down the rutted path toward a narrow stone bridge over a deep ravine.

  “Aye. Queen Margaret ordered it built over a holy well when she granted knighthood to William in 1090. ’Twas said it had healing powers.”

  Fiona paused when they reached the bridge and peered over the stone rail. “Was this a moat?”

  “A natural one. The River Esk winds round the castle. ’Twas one of the reasons eight thousand Scots could hold against thirty thousand English in the Battle of Roslin.”

  “’Twas worse odds than Cullode,”
Fiona exclaimed.

  “Battles are won on strategy,” Shane said as they walked up a short hill and through the ruined gatehouse to the courtyard. “And ’tis much different when ye are behind castle walls than open moors.” He gestured. “What do ye think?”

  Abigail stood in the center of the open area and slowly turned around. Next to the partial arch were fragments of crumbling walls. To her right, much of a curtain wall still stood, including what looked like a postern gate. Straight ahead was a mound of rubble and a solitary wall that seemed none too stable.

  “What is that?” Abigail asked.

  “’Twas the keep where the Sinclairs lived before the new house was built.”

  Abigail turned her attention to the massive five-story building on her left that Shane referred to. “New?”

  “Aye. Since 1622.”

  “Is looks in good condition compared to the rest. Is it still habitable?”

  “Aye, although some say ’tis haunted.”

  Fiona giggled. “All old castles are haunted.”

  Abigail looked skeptical. “Is this one home to faeries?”

  Shane shook his head, wishing one of the pesky pixies that were interfering with his life would show herself to Abigail so she would believe. Faeries, though, were mischievous by nature and not given to obliging humans. “’Tis a hound who does the haunting here.”

  “A hound?”

  “Aye. ’Tis said at the Battle of Roslin, an English soldier brought a wolfhound with him. When the man was felled by a Scot, the dog attacked and the Scot killed it. Later, while the Scots were celebrating, its wraith appeared in the dining hall.”

  “A result of too much whisky, no doubt,” Abigail said.

  “Och, lass. Ye need to have faith.”

  “Faith? What does—”

  “Go on,” Fiona interrupted. “What did the dog do?”

  “Nae much except to appear each night at mealtime. The Scots got used to the spectre and called him the Mauthe Dog.”

  Fiona looked disappointed. “That doesnae seem frightening.”