The Mackenzie, The Trilogy Box Set

by H. C. Brown

  “I insist you accept his offer, Adrianna.” He scowled at her. “Or you will suffer the consequences.”

  Her mind reeled with the implications of a forced marriage with Baron du Court. Her skin prickled and she flicked the ornate gold frame across the table then sat back in her chair to await her father’s wrath. She had to convince him the necessity of finishing the season to allow Drew time to return to London and make his offer. Surely, after refusing so many gentlemen, her father would agree to a match with him. She lifted her chin. “Do as you may, Papa. I will not marry Baron du Court.”

  Her father’s expression had changed from anger to bewilderment. He cleared his throat and his mouth turned up in a benevolent smile. The sight sent a shiver of apprehension scuttling down her spine. Heavens above, he had decided to change his gambit.

  “My dear Adrianna, there is no negotiation in this matter. Your come out was four seasons ago. Do you want to die an old maid?” He leaned back in his chair and assumed a less threatening posture. “Baron du Court will introduce you to the French court. Most ladies would jump at the chance to be involved in such distinguished society.” He brushed lint from his breeches and smiled. “I suggest you give his suit due consideration because although I cannot hold a gun to your head, I can have you secreted in Bedlam. I am sure most of society believes you have lost your wits.”

  Anger flared and then flowed into a wave of panic. She drew a breath to steady her nerves and fiddled with the tassel on her fan unable to look at him. Appeasing her father would require her acquiescence. She flashed look at him from below her lashes and could not prevent the sour tone in her voice. “What has the baron offered to make you rush me to the altar against my will?”

  “That is none of your concern.” He raised one eyebrow in question. “Do you have another solution for the scandal you have caused? Do you have anyone on your list of prospective husbands? One who is a deaf mute perhaps?”

  She swallowed hard. Dare she tell her father of her promise to wait for Drew? No, she could not. She did not give a fig about her reputation, but one mention of her clandestine meetings with Drew and society would shun Lord Rupert. She groped for another excuse, anything to extend her time in London. Lord Rupert’s acquaintances have been very attentive of late and all would make a better match. I will finish the season and then make my decision.”

  “No one will offer for you after reading the broadsheet. The gossip mill is already turning and you will no longer be seen in public.” He frowned and his narrow shoulders shook with anger. “You will stop wasting time and accept Baron du Court’s offer and have done with it.”

  Oh, Drew, I need you. I do not know what to do. “Have you thought of my feelings in this matter? Baron du Court will not do.” She rubbed her temples. “Are you blind to the cruelty in his countenance, Papa?”

  Her father’s dark eyebrows rose to his hairline and he glared down his aristocratic nose at her. One hand came down hard on the arm of the chair.

  “I’ve had enough of this nonsense.” He peered at her through his quizzing glass. “You will do as I say.”

  She flicked her fan to cover her expression of distaste. To be sure, her depiction in a broadsheet did not give him the excuse to treat her in this appalling fashion. Taking a deep breath to steady her fragile nerves, she met her father’s glare. She had to give Drew time to return. “Will you at least give me a few days to consider his offer?”

  “No, I will not.” He wiped a hand over his flushed face. “I have accepted Baron du Court’s offer for your own good. You will remove to France and I will not hear another word about it.” He glared at her. “This morning I met with his man of affairs and signed a settlement. You will retain your grandfather’s inheritance and your mother’s estates in Gloucestershire. I have instead provided Baron du Court with a substantial dowry.”

  Gaping at her father in disbelief, she dropped her fan, and clasped her trembling fingers together in distress. Drew, oh Drew, I will lose you forever. Images of Baron du Court’s displeasing countenance flooded her mind causing her vision to waver at the edges. The room swayed and an unpleasant taste filled her mouth. What had she done to deserve such treatment? Lips pursed on the edge of a retort, she caught the flash of anger in her father’s gaze. Arguing with him when his mind was set would achieve nothing. Instead, she arranged her expression to one of disinterest. “You have made decisions on my future happiness without consulting me and would send me away in dishonor. I am not to blame for a scribbler’s fancies.”

  “It is too late to worry about your honor but society may well forgive you once you are married to a baron.” He glared at her. “To redeem my reputation, your betrothal will be announced in the newspapers on your departure.” He snorted. “To ensure respectability on your arrival in France, the Countess D’ Cologne has offered her home for your convenience and will act as chaperone. Baron du Court will call upon you to make his offer which you will accept. You will be married in France at his castle at Muzon. I will be there in good time for the nuptials.” He leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “When the Baron’s ship sails for France you will be on board. He has sent his man of affairs to escort you and your maid. In fact, Monsieur Moreau is waiting in my study.” He pushed to his feet, strode to the door, and spoke to the butler.

  She stared at her father in disbelief. He had never intended to consider her thoughts on the matter and the proof waited in the study. She stood on trembling knees and smoothed the skirt of her pale blue morning gown before moving her attention to the insignificant man entering the room. Although, dressed in the height of Parisian fashion, the fine garments did nothing to improve his appearance. Indeed, if she had come across the man prone on a pallet, she would have assumed him dead. A powdered black wig framed a cadaverous face with dark circles cut deep beneath soulless eyes set in a scull-like face. Her gaze slid to a black beauty spot in the guise of a rearing stallion adorning one, sunken ivory cheek in the mode of the French Court.

  “Monsieur Moreau, may I present my daughter, Lady Adrianna.” Her father smiled congenially.

  She gave her curtsy and against her better judgment offered a hand. At his touch, ice filled her veins. To be sure, the baron’s man of affairs appeared merciless and dangerous. As his kiss lingered on her hand, she set her expression to one of bland disinterest. Good Lord this man was to escort her. She stared at him in disbelief and her nostrils filled with the disgusting odor of stale sweat covered by an overindulgence of lavender water.

  Monsieur Moreau spoke in a thick Parisian accent.

  “Your servant, my lady.” He straightened and his amusement of her distress unnerved her. “I will look forward to our trip together. It is an adventure, non?”

  She had the overwhelming desire to wipe her hand on her skirt, or better still take a long hot bath. His touch revolted her. “I have yet to agree to this match, Monsieur Moreau, and I still have much to discuss with my father.”

  “Ah, I see.” Monsieur Moreau inclined his head and shot a puzzled glance toward her father. “Then I will return to the study and await your decision.” He bowed. “My lord.”

  Agitation flowed from her father and the tension between them crackled in the air. He waited for Monsieur Moreau to leave the room then rounded on her with his eyes blazing.

  “There is nothing more to discuss and your rudeness toward Monsieur Moreau is unwarranted. Sit down, Adrianna.”

  The possibility of losing Drew forever slammed into her and unable to stand, she collapsed into a chair. Without his imminent return, all hopes and dreams of a life with her Highlander would crumble to dust. She closed her fist, determined to fight for the man she loved. Setting her attention to pleating her skirt in order to gain time to think, she searched her mind for as many excuses as possible to cause delay.

  She drew a deep breath to steady her frayed nerves and straightened. “May I ask why you have no plans to escort me, Papa? It would be most unseemly to travel alo
ne with Monsieur Moreau.” She lifted her gaze. “You do, I assume, intend to view the Baron’s estate to ensure my well-being?”

  “You make no sense child.” Her father stood and towered over her with his hands locked under the tails of his superbly tailored brown velvet jacket. “Baron du Court is one of King Louis’s advisors.” His dark brows furrowed. “Traveling with your maid at the age of two and twenty is well within the bounds of respectability. I cannot leave London for some time as you know full well, I have patients to consider.”

  Swallowing the bad taste in her mouth, she regarded her father’s expression with interest. She understood the determined set of his jaw, oh yes, he had made up his mind, and any words of protest she uttered would be meaningless. With effort, she ordered her thoughts. If she contacted Rupert immediately, he would have time to inform Drew of her plight. Indeed, her life depended on Drew’s presence to change the outcome of her demise.

  Forcing back a sigh, she reached for her untouched glass of cordial and sipped meeting her father’s thunderous expression over the rim. “Very well but I hope you do not expect me to leave at once. I will need time to prepare for the journey.”

  “Yes, you will have plenty of time. The voyage will be lengthy as Baron du Court’s ship will be delivering goods along the coast as far as Scotland before returning to France.”

  Scotland? The Baron’s ship would lodge a manifest and perhaps Lord Rupert could inform Drew. Mayhap, she could make an excuse to go ashore and meet him. With her reputation already in tatters, eloping with Drew did not signify. She offered her father a small smile. “Who will run the house in my stead, Papa? Will you not miss me?”

  “Do not concern yourself over me. I have told you a dozen times or more of my intention to offer for Lady Amelia Duffy and set up a nursery. She is of unimpeachable pedigree and I need a male heir.” He raised his quizzing glass and made a noise of soft derision. “I am not getting any younger. My wife will be the mistress of Beachwood Manor.”

  The enormity of her situation curled around her in a frigid grasp. Her appearance in a broadsheet had not placed her in this intolerable position after all. He had planned a new family and her presence had become redundant. She swallowed the lump in her throat and inclined her head. “Are you sure she will do as a replacement for Mother?”

  The familiar tick in his cheek indicated his patience with her was at an end and to persist would cause an irreparable rift between them.

  “Enough go to your room, Adrianna.”

  Aghast, she bent to retrieve her fan and fought back tears. For now, she must act the part of a dutiful daughter, board the ship to France, and hope Drew would rescue her. Straightening, she bobbed a curtsy. “I must apologize, Papa, for placing you in such an intolerable position.”

  “You have, but all will be forgiven the moment you set foot in France.” His thin victorious smile broke her heart.

  She arranged her skirts and moved her attention back to the baron’s portrait to give her father the impression she had reconsidered. Forcing her lips into a smile, she laid one hand on her father’s arm. “Very well, I will go with Monsieur Moreau to France and give consideration to Baron du Court’s offer but it is with the greatest reluctance, Papa.”

  “Thank you. I never intended for us to quarrel.” He covered her hand. “You have to believe, I do want what is best for you.”

  No, Papa, you have only considered what is best for you. She withdrew her hand knowing the truth of it. No amount of good intentions would heal the pain of rejection. She meant nothing to him. Lifting her chin, she bolstered her resolve. She would send a letter to Lord Rupert, but she required more information to relay to Drew. “I gather you have organized a departure date and might I ask on what vessel will I be traveling?”

  “The baron’s ship goes by the name of The Black Turtle and I have yet to make the final plans for your departure.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Within the next two months, I would gather.”

  She clamped her lips together to smother a sigh of relief. Two months would give Drew time to return to London and if he decided the only course was to elope then she would need freedom of movement without her father’s constant vigilance. Meeting her father’s considering gaze, she spread her hands wide. “Well, Papa, you must understand, I will require new dresses made in the mode of the French Court. You cannot possibly expect me to arrive in France dressed as a pauper.”

  He straightened as if making a decision.

  “Very well, I suggest you visit Madame Boucherie this afternoon. Lady Amelia insists on using her. I believe she follows the latest mode.”

  Biting back a snort of resentment, she inclined her head in resignation. “Thank you, Papa.” She lifted her skirts and swept from the room.

  Her father had treated her like a girl in her first come out and had not taken into account her intelligence. She would use the generous portion left to her by her grandfather to escape his plans. Very well, he wanted her from his life, and she would leave England. She snorted. Scotland, not France is my destination.

  The image of Drew’s smiling face filled her mind. He had promised to return and time had run out. In the hallway, she waved away her maid, and slumped against the wall. She pulled Drew’s linen handkerchief from her pocket, and pressed it to her nose. The scent of him bolstered her courage. I will see you again.

  She straightened thanking God for her ability to keep her head in a crisis. Lifting her skirts, she made her way to her room, and as she climbed the stairs, the memory of her mother opened in her mind like the petals of a rose. She smiled. The precious stones and gold coins her mother had entrusted to her on her deathbed would see her immediate destiny secured. She would find Drew and return to England to claim her mother’s estate. She giggled. I will look forward to seeing the look on your face, Papa when I return with a husband of my own choosing.

  * * * *

  After concluding business with The Black Turtle and other vessels along the coast for the past two months, Drew entered the gates of Foiseil Castle with enough food to feed his clan for a month. Finding the keep in chaos, he strode directly to the laird’s chamber to discover his father on his deathbed. His brothers, Ian and Jamie stood in the dim light as if guarding the bent figure of his mother sitting beside the bed. In that moment, all hopes and dreams of returning to London and Adrianna fled. The once strong man’s skin clung to his bones and the smell of sweat hung heavy in the air. Drew flung open the windows to air the stagnant room. He stared down at his father in disbelief. News had come that his illness had passed and rather than returning to Badenoch, he had spent his time gathering much-needed supplies. “What in Saint Bride happened to ye, Pa?” He touched his pallid damp skin. “Ye dinna look as if the bloody flux has returned. What ails ye?”

  His father’s voice came out in a cracked whisper, but his eyes held the same determination as ever.

  “The Monroe poisoned the wells, I am sure of it. Ma wame is burning and I am coughing blood.”

  “Aye well, rest easy and I will brew ye a ptisan to sooth the pain.”

  His father gripped his arm and a determined expression met his gaze.

  “It is too late for me, aye. I ken ye will argue, but ye must use what time I have left to make ye presence known.” He coughed and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. “Angus is gaining favor with the clan, I overheard him planning to make himself laird on ma passing.”

  Drew patted his shoulder and prayed for the necessary strength to watch his father die. Tears pricked his eyes, but he smiled. “Aye, Jamie told me about the bastard. Dinna fash, I arrived with food aplenty. All ken I have returned home and gave me a fine welcome.”

  “Good, then bide awhile and tell me about your travels.”

  Drew sat beside him through a long night and offered what skills he had as a healer to aid his suffering. His father said little but as the first rays of morning spilled through the tapestry covering the window, he turned to him, and twisted the clan ri
ng from his finger.

  “Come closer, my sons.” His father’s green eyes searched the faces of his three boys. “I have been murdered and ask ye to seek vengeance on the Monroe. Guard your mother wi’ your lives.” With a trembling hand that broke Drew’s heart, he pressed the ring into his palm. “I declare ye laird now, go down first thing and call a meeting of the clan, they will swear fealty to ye.” He smiled displaying bloodstained teeth. Ma only regret is I dinna see ye wed afore I died.”

  Drew squeezed his hand. “I have found a bonny lass, wi’ hair like the shell of a chestnut and eyes the color of a loch in summer. I will settle things here and then fetch her. Ye will like ma choice, Da.”

  His father coughed and gasped for breath, red spittle leaked down his chin.

  “Aye, well I will die a happy man.” He turned his head and reached for his wife’s hand. His last words came out in a whisper. “I am sorry.”

  * * * *

  The following morning every clansman swore fealty to Drew, and he walked from the Great Hall as Laird Mackenzie. He pushed down the overwhelming grief of losing his father and so many dear friends and relatives, and led the funeral procession to bury his Da beside three of his cousins. He glanced across the lines of kerns in the graveyard and shuddered. With so many dead, the priest had needed to consecrate an additional acre for the burials.

  With a heavy heart, he returned to the keep and made his way to his father’s study, his sanctuary now. He needed a few moments alone to organize his mind. Opening his father’s journal, he skimmed through the pages but found nothing of significance. However, his father had been correct by not placing the blame on the bloody flux for taking his life. All to a man had died of poisoning. He recognized the symptoms the moment he laid eyes on his father’s pallid, sweating skin, and purple, swollen, bloodstained tongue. Thank God, Jamie had come to the same conclusion and boarded up the wells then instructed the tenants to haul water from the river.