Julia London - [Scandalous 02]

by Highland Scandal

  “You must be Lizzie’s knight, then,” Jack said.

  The knight’s gaze raked over Jack’s soiled clothing, the wet ends of his neckcloth, and the soap and cloth he carried. “I’ll ask only once. Who are you?”

  “I am Jankin Haines, Earl of Lambourne, at your service,” Jack said, and clicked his heels, bowing low with an exaggerated flourish.

  “I thought as much,” the young man said, his voice dripping with derision.

  “And you, sir knight? Have you a proper name, other than Lizzie’s savior?”

  “I am no’ a knight,” the young man said. “I am Gavin Gordon of Glencochill.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Gordon,” Jack said. “And now that we’ve made the inevitable and unavoidable introductions, will you please excuse me? I’ve had a rather long day and I should like a bath.” Jack moved to step around Gordon.

  But Mr. Gordon was indeed Lizzie’s knight, for he threw up his hand, his palm facing Jack. “You are too hasty, milord. I would have a word. The situation in which Miss Beal finds herself with you is insupportable and must be dealt with straightaway.”

  “I could no’ possibly agree more,” Jack said, and attempted to step around him again.

  “You must cry off,” Gordon said sternly. “You must cry off and leave Thorntree at once. After the damage you’ve wrought, it is the only gentlemanly thing you might do.”

  All right, then, Jack was prepared to let this young buck feel his oats, but he would not stand for that. “The damage I have wrought? The only gentlemanly thing I might do? Do you think, Mr. Gordon, that I somehow concocted this ridiculous scheme to steal your precious Lizzie from you?”

  “Donna speak about Miss Beal as if you are a close acquaintance, sir,” Gordon snapped. “You may no’ have concocted this scheme, but you are a man and you should no’ have agreed to the handfasting if Miss Beal did no’ desire it. Your actions could very well have ruined her.”

  Jack turned to face him fully, looking him over head to foot, assessing him. He was at least ten years younger and not without good looks. He had a strong build, but he was not as muscular as Jack, or as tall. His clothing was not of the first cut, but it was suitable. At the very least, Jack reckoned the knight would keep food on a table and a roof over Lizzie’s head. And he did possess a bit of mettle. He’d need that in order to go toe-to-toe with her.

  Aye, Jack supposed Gordon would do for Lizzie in the absence of any suitable man in Glenalmond. “Lad,” he said, “you need no’ fear my intentions. There is naugh’ at Thorntree that could possibly entice me to stay. As soon as I might slip away without causing a bit of trouble up the hill, I’ll be gone.” He gave him a smile and stepped around him.

  Gordon caught his arm. “You’ll cry off and you’ll go,” he said flatly.

  His grip was strong, and that infuriated Jack. With a violent jerk, he freed his arm. “Do no’ presume to tell me what to do.”

  “You will remove your presence from her private rooms, put yourself on a horse, and go.”

  “I may as well hand myself over to bounty hunters,” Jack said.

  “Hand yourself over to the diabhal for all that I care,” Gordon said icily. “Just leave.”

  “Bloody simpleton, suppose I did precisely that?” Jack said angrily. “You’ll still be left with the issue of Carson’s desire to have Thorntree. Are you prepared to marry her without that as a dowry, Gordon?”

  Gordon blinked.

  “As I thought,” Jack said acidly. Gordon was playing the part of the noble gentleman quite well, out to protect the virtue of the woman who would, by all indications, become his wife…unless the dowry should slip away. Jack ignored the sharp prick that thought gave him and decided that the best way to soothe the young man’s ruffled feathers was to allow him to think he’d won the battle and perhaps even the war.

  “I happen to agree that Miss Lizzie deserves better than the likes of me.” He smiled down the small irritation to his conscience that remark caused him. “I’d be gone from Thorntree now if I could but determine what it is that Carson Beal wants from it.”

  Gordon’s face mottled with his confusion.

  “Aye, there is something at Thorntree that he wants,” Jack continued. “Something he’d have for himself, something that he is loath to leave to Miss Lizzie…or her future husband.”

  “What do you mean?” Gordon demanded.

  “I donna rightly know. But once I’ve determined what it is he wants, I might negotiate with him, aye? Perhaps I might save my neck and Lizzie’s reputation.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Gordon said sternly. “There can be nothing at Thorntree that he’d want. Look around you, milord. It is a small estate with no income.”

  “Aye, a small estate with no income, but mark me—there is something here that does no’ meet the eye.”

  “You can study it from some place other than Thorntree,” Gordon said stubbornly, clearly not as concerned about bounty hunters as Jack was. “I donna want you near her, aye?” He stepped forward, so that his face was quite close to Jack’s. “I donna want you to speak with her, to look at her, to touch her. You do any of those things, and I will kill you.”

  “If I were you, I’d cease threatening me,” Jack said evenly.

  “Or what, pray tell?” Gordon sneered.

  “Or I will kill you first,” Jack said, and swung so fast that Gordon didn’t have time to react before he connected with his jaw. But Gordon was quick on his feet and swung right back.

  Jack had no idea how many blows were landed before someone pulled them apart—pulled Jack off Gordon, he smugly noted, and held him back. It was Dougal; Newton had Gordon in hand.

  “Ye’re no’ to be here, Gordon,” Newton said angrily, and began to drag him away. When they had cleared the path, Dougal let go of Jack and handed him a handkerchief. Jack touched it to his lip. It was bleeding. He could not remember the last time he’d fought another man with his bare hands, but he’d found this scrap oddly invigorating.

  Gordon thought he would keep Jack from Lizzie? Preposterous! The place was so small he couldn’t avoid her if he tried. As if he could inhabit the same bit of Highland air as she and not breathe it!

  Preposterous. Impossible.

  Lizzie heard about the commotion from Mrs. Kincade, who sought her out in the hothouse, where she’d taken refuge. “It’s an awful to-do, Miss Lizzie,” she said with a shake of her head. “They’ve bound your Mr. Gordon to a chair!”

  Lizzie cried out with alarm, dropped the spade she held, and flew to the house, still wearing her apron.

  She found them in the small front parlor. Newton and Dougal flanked Mr. Gordon, who was indeed trussed to a chair. Jack was sitting on the settee, nursing a cut on his lip. It was obvious both men had been involved in a fight. “Mi Diah!” Lizzie cried. “Untie him! Untie him at once!”

  “I canna do that, Miss Lizzie,” Newton said stoically. “Gordon is no’ allowed here on my laird’s orders, and if I let him go, he’ll bring the prince’s men down around our ears.”

  “By all that is holy, I’ll see you all brought down!” Mr. Gordon roared, and tried to wrest free of his ties, managing only to move the chair a few inches before Dougal stopped him.

  “You can no’ leave him tied up like this!” Lizzie cried.

  “You had no objections when they restrained me,” Jack pointed out petulantly.

  “And why should she? You’re a bloody nuisance!” Mr. Gordon shouted.

  Newton suddenly pointed a gun to the ceiling and cocked it, gaining everyone’s attention instantly.

  “Rather dramatic, is it no’?” Jack asked tetchily.

  “Lads,” Newton said with a scowl for Jack, “we’ll come to a reasonable solution, aye?” He looked at Mr. Gordon. “As I see it, sir, ye donna want to leave Miss Lizzie alone here with the earl, and no one here blames ye in the least.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Jack protested.

  “And ye donna want anyone handing ye over to the
prince’s men,” Newton said to Jack. “No one here will fault ye for no’ wanting to hang just yet, aye? Ye both need a bit of time to put everything to rights, so I think we might agree to a gentleman’s understanding.”

  “What in diabhal do you mean?” Mr. Gordon demanded.

  “I mean that we’ll hide ye from the laird, as much as it pains me to do it,” Newton said. “And we’ll hide the earl from the bounty hunters. Ye’ll both be safe here for a time.”

  “Toward what end?” Jack demanded.

  Newton shrugged. “Until ye determine what is to be done.”

  “Ridiculous,” Mr. Gordon said. “I’d rather remain tied to the chair.”

  But Newton looked at Lizzie. “Miss Lizzie?”

  She looked at Jack, then at Mr. Gordon. “We’ve no other choice, aye?” she said reluctantly. “Mr. Gordon, we’ve no choice,” she said again. “I canna let you bring the prince’s men here. And if Carson discovers you are here, I shudder to think what he might do. We must have a plan, would you agree?”

  He considered that a moment before giving her a terse nod.

  She looked at Jack.

  He glared at Lizzie, then at Mr. Gordon. “I shall do whatever allows me to quit Thorntree at the earliest convenience—short of being handed over to those wretched bounty hunters.”

  “Then you must move out of her suite,” Mr. Gordon said. “I will no’ settle for less!”

  “I will keep to Charlotte’s suite,” Lizzie said quickly.

  “And precisely where will you be?” Jack snapped at Mr. Gordon.

  “The nursery,” Newton said. “I shall keep an eye on him as Dougal has kept an eye on you.”

  “Splendid,” Jack said, and gained his feet. “Then it seems we’ve solved today’s dilemma. So if you will excuse me, gentlemen. Lizzie.” He bowed and stalked out of the room.

  Lizzie looked at Mr. Gordon. He was watching her closely. Too closely. “I should see to Charlotte,” she said, and hurried away from the parlor.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Lizzie quickly removed her apron, straightened her clothing and her hair as best she could, then went to Charlotte. The day was growing very gray, she noted; it would snow soon. So many angry men in the house made her nervous.

  Fortunately, Charlotte seemed unaware of the fracas and quite at ease. She was in her room, reading. It was the same tableau Lizzie had seen countless time, but this time there was something slightly different. “Your hair looks as if you’ve been outside without a bonnet,” Lizzie said curiously as she pulled the pins from it to brush it. “Did Mrs. Kincade no’ come to you, then?”

  “She came,” Charlotte said idly. “But Mr. Newton took me out of doors.”

  “What?” Lizzie cried. “He took you out? How dare he!”

  “It’s all right, Lizzie,” Charlotte said. “It was a lovely day, and I’ve no’ been out in some time.”

  “But—”

  “He was very kind to do it,” Charlotte said calmly. “I thought there was no harm. After all, the only thing I do is sit and sit and sit, aye?” She turned the page of her book. “I had forgotten what it smells like.”

  “What?” Lizzie asked, confused.

  “Winter,” Charlotte said.

  Lizzie took so many things for granted. She brushed Charlotte’s hair a few moments. “Did Newton happen to say anything of Carson? Anything that might help us?”

  “No’ a word!” Charlotte said. “He’ll chat my ear off, he will, but he’s stubbornly loyal to Carson and will no’ speak ill of him.”

  Amazingly, Charlotte did not scoff when she said it, nor did she make a face. Lizzie peered at her closely in the mirror but Charlotte averted her gaze. “What will Mrs. Kincade serve this evening? We’ve no’ enough chickens to feed the masses, have we?”

  “Rabbit hotpot,” Lizzie said.

  “Rabbit hotpot!” Charlotte exclaimed. “If that is no’ an indication that we’ve got one foot in the poorhouse!” She began to complain about the strain so many people were having on their paltry stores, concluding that only Jesus and his ability to change water into wine would save them now.

  Lizzie did not interrupt Charlotte’s nattering on about the poor quality of their evening fare, and watched her shrewdly. She knew very well that her obstinate sister had somehow come to esteem Mr. Newton, whether she chose to admit it or not. Lizzie was pleased for her, then, for Charlotte was in desperate need of a friend, and really, beyond his unfathomable attachment to his laird, Newton had shown Charlotte a kindness that no one else had. Lizzie grudgingly realized that she was glad he was about.

  “I have news,” she said as she put the finishing touches on Charlotte’s hair. “Mr. Gordon has come.”

  “Oh, Lizzie!” Charlotte said brightly. “At last! Wait…why do you look so unhappy? I thought you’d be overjoyed!”

  Lizzie started. Did she look unhappy? “I am happy, of course I am! But there has been a wee bit of…of friction between Mr. Gordon and the earl.”

  “Naturally!” Charlotte said laughingly. “What did you expect?”

  “I hardly know what I expected,” Lizzie said truthfully.

  “Make haste,” Charlotte said eagerly, sensing a bit of excitement. “Let us go and greet Mr. Gordon.”

  A quarter of an hour later, when Lizzie wheeled Charlotte into the drawing room, or rather, tried to maneuver past the four dogs who met them at the threshold, they found Mr. Gordon and Mr. Newton within, the tension between them as thick as Highland fog.

  Jack, Lizzie noted with a twinge of disappointment, was nowhere to be seen.

  “Miss Charlotte,” Mr. Gordon said tightly, moving to take the chair from Lizzie. “How well you look this evening.”

  “I am so happy you have come, Mr. Gordon,” Charlotte said. She looked at Newton and smiled. “Mr. Newton.”

  “Good evening, all,” Lizzie said.

  Newton nodded curtly and stood with his arms folded, watching Mr. Gordon closely as he wheeled Charlotte to the hearth. Bean jumped into her lap, settling there and eyeing Newton suspiciously. Fingal and Tavish, the largest dogs, meandered about the room having a good sniff of it, while Red plopped down near the door.

  “Whisky, sirs?” Lizzie asked.

  “No, thank you,” Mr. Gordon said. Newton likewise shook his head. Lizzie moved to the sideboard nonetheless. She would not subject herself to such a strained evening without a wee bit of wine. And if a wee bit would soothe her, a generous amount would drain her of all anxiety, so she helped herself to a full glass of it, and set aside a glass for Jack, for when he appeared. She had no doubt he would appear. The only question was when and in what frame of mind.

  “Are acquainted with Newton?” Charlotte asked Mr. Gordon.

  “I was forced to make his acquaintance,” Mr. Gordon answered curtly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Mr. Gordon wanted Lambourne to leave Thorntree, naturally,” Lizzie explained, catching Charlotte’s gaze, “but Newton thought perhaps Mr. Gordon should go instead.”

  “Why?” Charlotte asked, her brow furrowing.

  “Because Newton is Carson’s man, and Carson prefers the sham handfasting to a legitimate marriage,” Mr. Gordon said irritably.

  “Ah.” Charlotte looked at Newton, who did not dispute it. “Well, then,” she said brightly as Mr. Kincade entered the room. “How do you like rabbit hotpot?” she asked Mr. Gordon.

  “The hotpot is served, Miss Charlotte,” Mr. Kincade said, bowing crookedly.

  “But…but we are no’ all present, Mr. Kincade,” Lizzie said with a smile, knowing that the elderly man was not accustomed to playing the part of butler. “The earl of Lambourne has no’ yet joined us,” she reminded him.

  “The earl took his supper with me and the missus, Miss Lizzie,” Mr. Kincade said. “He and Mr. Dougal are bedding down the animals. Missus says it will snow tonight, it will.”

  “Let us dine,” Mr. Gordon said, and took Lizzie by the elbow. He nodded at Charlotte and steered
Lizzie out of the room as she absorbed the news that Jack was not coming to supper.

  She didn’t know why she should be surprised, she thought, as Mr. Gordon helped her into her seat at the dining table. Jack had done precisely what she had tried to make him do from the start. He’d stepped aside, left her to Mr. Gordon. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, wasn’t it? Considering that he might have put himself in harm’s way, some might even say it was a noble gesture from a man who was unaccustomed to making noble gestures.

  So why, then, did she feel so wounded by it? Why, in the course of the meal, did she think of Jack and scarcely hear a word from the man she hoped to marry? Was Jack so charming that he could—

  “Lizzie, is the food no’ to your liking?” Mr. Gordon asked, peering closely at her.

  She reared back and looked at her bowl. She’d hardly touched it. “No, no, it’s fine. I have very little appetite this evening.”

  “You, with the normal appetite of a horse, have none?” Charlotte asked, her tone far too disbelieving to suit Lizzie.

  “No’ tonight, Charlotte,” Lizzie said with a pointed look for her sister.

  “I am tiring you,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “No’ in the least!”

  “You’re certainly no’ tiring me!” Charlotte said. “Please go on, Mr. Gordon. You were saying?”

  “Just that sheep is the future of the Highlands. The more sheep we can put on these rocky hills, the more wool we will export, and there is a voracious demand developing for it.”

  Lizzie had no idea what Charlotte said to that—she was concentrating too hard on forcing the image of Jack from her mind.

  When the dishes were cleared, Mr. Gordon suggested he escort Lizzie and Charlotte to a drawing room. Newton stood.

  “No’ you,” Mr. Gordon said coldly.

  “I will invite myself, then,” Newton responded just as coldly.

  “Shall we have Newton read aloud?” Charlotte asked quickly. “I find him far more tolerable with an occupation than when he sits and stares at me. He’s been reading to me from the novel Cecilia, by Frances Burney,” she said. “The earl gave it to me and it’s really quite good. I should like to hear more of it—that is, if it suits Mr. Gordon and you, Lizzie.”