by Maura Seger
"Now don't you be worrying about a thing, miss," Mrs. Fergus said as soon as she saw Katlin. "We've got everything in hand. Why don't you go pick some pretty flowers for a bouquet and then get yourself ready?"
By which Katlin took it to mean that her services were not needed in the kitchen. She and Mrs. Fergus had gone over the menu for luncheon the previous day. It was ambitious without being extravagant. The plan was to serve the food as a picnic on the wide lawn behind the castle within view of the sea. Although Katlin would have been hard-pressed to say which aspect of Innishffarin was the most pleasant, she thought the seaward side might win by a whisker.
There was, of course, another reason for serving luncheon outside. Katlin was hoping to limit any possible encounters between her guests and the contrary spirit of Francis Wyndham.
She spent a peaceful hour plucking heather on the hillside and returned with her arms full. Sarah took the blossoms from her and set about arranging them in large stone urns throughout the great hall, where they helped to scent the air.
That done, Katlin began her own preparations. Her wardrobe was somewhat limited since when she left London she had not envisioned so long a stay. But she was determined to make the best of what she had available. Melissa Haversham would not be allowed to outshine her.
She chose a floor-length undertunic of white muslin followed by a crimson velvet overdress with a fringed hem that came to just below her knees. The scalloped neck of the dress left her throat and upper bodice bare. Sarah had already done her hair in a chignon covered by a crimson scarf matching the dress. The scarf framed her face but left a fringe of soft curls visible.
The ensemble was the height of fashion, as she knew, but she also thought it made her look rather regal, all to the good considering the uncertainty she felt. Satisfied by what she saw in the mirror, she draped a gauzy stole over her bare arms and left the room.
She had lingered longer at her preparations than she had thought. As she emerged from the curving stone staircase, her guests were beginning to arrive. First to alight from the carriage was Charles, looking dashing in a cutaway and daring plaid trousers. He extended a hand to Melissa, who followed.
Katlin resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. Despite the fresh spring breeze that cooled the air, Melissa had dressed as though she expected to spend the next few hours in an overheated drawing room. Her thin muslin gown was unfettered by an overdress of any sort. While not precisely transparent, it hinted generously at the slender grace of her figure. Charles was not immune to such blandishments. He bent slightly to say something in Melissa's ear, which prompted a fit of giggles.
Together they proceeded up the stone steps to Katlin. Lord and Lady St. John followed, sensibly dressed for the outing as, Katlin noted with relief, were the other guests. Only dear Melissa appeared to be courting pneumonia.
Greetings were offered and comments on the lovely day exchanged. They were about to go inside when a lone horseman cantered up the road.
Strictly speaking, Angus had been invited. After all, he had been right there when the arrangements were made, and it would have been the height of discourtesy to exclude him. Still, Katlin had nurtured the hope that he might have the delicacy, not to say the discretion, to remain elsewhere.
Not so. He dismounted, handed the reins to one of the gaggle of boys Seamus had organized to look after the horses, and nodded graciously to the company.
He was dressed plainly as usual in breeches and a shirt, and looked as though he had just come from riding his fields, which in all likelihood he had. Beside him, Charles was an exotic bird preening in his glorious plumage with no sense that it made him all the more attractive to predators.
Angus's smile had a rapier sharpness. He bestowed it with particular brilliance on Melissa, who forgot herself sufficiently to simper.
"So nice to see you again, Lord Wyndham," she said with just the merest hint of a lisp. That young ladies, and a few young gentlemen, affected such an impediment was a source of no little annoyance to Katlin. Melissa tried her patience under the best of circumstances, which these clearly weren't.
"Shall we," she murmured as she indicated the high double doors of the castle standing open to receive her guests. They trooped inside obediently enough although Angus lingered in the sun. He waited until everyone had gone on ahead but himself and Katlin.
Softly, he asked, "You wouldn't have begun without me, would you?"
"Of course I would," Katlin replied tartly. "I'm sure you have much more important things to do than being here today."
Angus looked ahead to where Charles stood just within the great hall. The baron was gazing at his surroundings with an expression of bored tolerance.
"I wouldn't say that," Angus replied. He stepped aside to let Katlin precede him into the hall. In the process, he enjoyed a whiff of the scent clinging to her—a mixture of sun, fresh air and heather. An image flashed through his mind, Katlin lying naked beneath him in the crushed flowers. The effect was instant and predictable. He blessed the relatively loose fit of his breeches and followed her.
Melissa had gone at once to the fire where she stood trembling ostentatiously. The others had arranged themselves sensibly on the several couches and chairs nearby. John was already busy serving drinks, tea for the ladies, drams of Scotch for the gentlemen.
As Katlin joined them, Lady Penelope said, "You've done wonders, dear. Your grandfather was a marvelous man but from what I've heard he lacked a certain domestic touch. Innishffarin is ever so much more comfortable than I had imagined it would be."
"Quite the thing," Puck agreed. He looked around approvingly at the high, stone-vaulted walls, the tapestries hung over the massive stone blocks and the scattering of ancient pikes and shields that remained a potent reminder of Innishffarin's true purpose. "A place like this takes us back to our origins. Doesn't do to forget them, to be sure."
"Doesn't really hurt to improve on them, either," Charles said with a small smile. "Palmerston, for instance, is an ancient seat but it has been consistently updated over the years. Apparently, Katlin dear, your ancestors didn't think that was necessary.''
"My ancestors, actually," Angus said as he accepted the glass John offered. "Innishffarin used to belong to the Wyndhams."
"Oh, that's right," Lady Penelope joined in, "Do you know, I'd quite forgotten." Belatedly, it occurred to her that her remark might have been injudicious. "Do pardon me, Angus, I don't mean to be thoughtless, but a great deal of time has gone by."
"Slightly more than a century," Angus replied matter-of-factly. "I agree with you, it is a long time. But in the overall scheme of things, it doesn't count for much. Wyndhams have been on this land a great deal longer."
"The Sinclairs did not spring out of the earth on the day we took control of Innishffarin," Katlin said with some asperity. She disliked the suggestion that she and her family were parvenues, only lately arrived on such ancient and hallowed ground. "We had a considerable heritage before we ever set foot in Scotland," she concluded.
Angus inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Well put."
Katlin frowned. Why was he being so agreeable? He even seemed inclined to be pleasant to Melissa, whom he was regarding with a look of concern.
"Did you forget your shawl?" he asked courteously.
Melissa reddened, as much from being the sudden focus of his attention as from the question. "Why, no. It was such a pleasant day it didn't occur to me that it would be needed. But these old walls—" she shivered delicately "—they do hold the chill."
"As anyone ought to know," Lady Penelope said. "I suggested you would need something more."
"Do allow me," Katlin interjected with just the merest glimmer of enjoyment. "I'll find you something sensible."
"Oh, please don't," Melissa said hastily, undoubtedly envisioning herself muffled in scratchy wool, "I'm really quite fine."
"As you wish," Katlin said with a shrug. Let the fool freeze; they'd be outside soon enough, anyway. She intended t
o keep the tour of the castle brief.
This she managed well enough although there was that one moment when Sir Jonathan Hilary, an otherwise pleasant young man with an unfortunate squint, turned in the direction of the passage where Francis was wont to appear. Hastily, Katlin pulled him away.
"Not there," she said with a quick smile. "It's utterly uninteresting, and there is a tiny bit of structural work that needs to be done." This was true, for she had noticed a wobbly stone in the floor when last she was there, an event she would be very wise not to think of now, considering where it had led.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Angus's grin and realized he was thinking along the same lines. Damn the man, he had no right to upset her careful plans. Releasing Sir Jonathan, safely pointed in the right direction, she focused her attention on Charles.
He had not lost his air of studied boredom but at least he had made no disparaging remarks. Indeed, he had even gone so far as to say the small family chapel was pleasant and might make a good library. The thought disturbed Katlin, who had an uneasy feeling about converting a religious place to secular use, but she said nothing of that. Instead, she nodded demurely.
"There is so much potential here. Most castles like Innishffarin eventually fell. They could survive sieges but not the advent of the cannon. Innishffarin is one of the very few to come down to us intact. Surely it deserves to be preserved."
She cast a leading look at Charles but he refused to be drawn in.
"How did it survive?" he asked. With a nod to Angus, he added, "I presume your family wasn't anxious to let it go. You'd have thought there'd be some sort of quarrel."
Katlin stiffened. She knew well enough that this was a sore point and wondered if Charles had hit on it deliberately. His expression was bland enough but she wouldn't put it past him to try baiting Angus.
If so, he was disappointed, for Angus's response was mild in the extreme. "A choice had to be made," he said. "It was a difficult one, to be sure, but in the end lives were more important than stone."
"You mean your family simply let the Sinclairs take Innishffarin?" Melissa asked. She had never been accused of being overly bright. But she did make an effort to think, however ill-advised. "I suppose you didn't need it any more," she said cheerfully. "Lady Penelope told us about Wyndham Manor. It sounds magnificent."
The notion that his ancestors had abandoned their centuries-old home because they had grown tired of it struck Angus as bizarre. He looked at the young woman skeptically. "Is that what you imagine happened?"
Melissa shrugged her translucent shoulders. This business of trooping through rooms was tiresome. The castle was immense, old, drafty and so far as she could see, unlivable. "Times do change," she said.
"Times, perhaps," Angus said, "but other things do not." He left it at that, aware that Charles was glancing at him thoughtfully. The popinjay was becoming annoying. What could Katlin possibly see in him? Besides the obvious, of course. He was wealthy, but so was Angus. Indeed, although he was far more discreet about his wealth than was Charles Devereux, he knew for a fact that he could buy and sell the baron several times over.
Katlin brought the tour to a hasty conclusion before the tension between the two men could develop any further. Outside in the clear spring light, she breathed a sigh of relief. It had gone better than she had hoped, not in the least because Francis had failed to put in an appearance.
Briefly, she entertained the notion that he might have left, but put that aside. After all these years, there was slim chance he would simply depart. Sooner or later, he would have to be dealt with. But not, she reminded herself sternly, with any further assistance from Angus. That she could most certainly do without.
They took their seats on soft blankets spread over the grass. Katlin's servants hovered, taking their duties very seriously, she noted. Her guests appeared gratifyingly surprised as the food was laid out.
Mrs. Fergus had outdone herself. In addition to the braised beef, served cold with a mustard sauce, there were paper-thin slices of partridge wrapped in puff pastry, a chilled garnish of vegetables and pickled salmon on crusty fresh-baked bread. The salmon had given Katlin pause when the menu was discussed, but she yielded to Mrs. Fergus's insistence that it was a reliable and delicious dish. So it proved. Well flavored with ginger and pepper, the salmon was a welcome accompaniment to the heavier dishes.
With the food, chilled wine was served as well as lemonade. The latter was not the drink Katlin had enjoyed in London, having been improved upon by the Scots, who initiated the practice of letting the lemon juice and sugar mixture ferment for several days.
By the time luncheon was over, all the guests were in understandably good cheer. All, that is, save for Angus, who appeared no more than amused. He was stretched out on his side on one of the blankets with the stem of a wineglass between his two long fingers. His eyes were half-closed. He might have been daydreaming, but for the sense of coiled awareness about him.
Katlin shifted uneasily. What was he planning? She was sure there was something. The glitter of light in his azure eyes was a dead giveaway.
At least to her. No one else seemed to sense anything amiss. When Angus spoke, only Katlin stiffened.
"Could I interest anyone in a hunt tomorrow?" he asked.
"Jolly good," Puck chimed in immediately. "Been thinking of it myself, but your land's better. Bigger, for one thing, and more of a challenge."
"Wouldn't mind at all," Sir Jonathan added. So did several other men, including Charles. He prided himself on his equestrian ability and liked nothing better than to exhibit it in a heady chase over the moor and meadow. Also, he liked to kill.
But he was not completely without sense, or perhaps it was merely luck that he thought to ask, "Hunt what? Not fox, I hope. Stag's the thing."
"Actually," Angus said without expression, "I was thinking of going for wolf."
Puck's eyes widened. "Wolf? Haven't heard of one of those about in years. Are you certain?"
"As I can be. Something's been troubling my crofters to the north. We've had a dozen dead sheep in the past two months. All the signs indicate it's a wolf."
"You've got the finest pack in the area," Puck said. "Ought to be able to hunt him down." He looked excited by the thought.
"Tomorrow then," Angus said. He smiled in Katlin's direction. "I can return Miss Sinclair's hospitality."
"That isn't necessary," she murmured. A cold sense of dread flowed through her. Of all the accomplishments of a proper young lady, the one she had never managed to acquire was a love of the hunt. Or, for that matter, a tolerance of it. While she rode well, she had only distaste for the notion of chasing after a helpless animal until its heart gave out or it was mauled to death by dogs.
But this animal wasn't helpless, was it? She had an intuitive understanding of the damage a wolf could do. Still, the thought of it being killed distressed her.
"I would rather not," she said quietly.
Charles looked at her in surprise. "Come now, you don't mean that. Everyone hunts. This will just be a bit out of the ordinary, that's all."
Katlin understood well enough that his intention was to strip Angus's invitation of any hint of the exotic. He failed, of course. Everyone else was enraptured by the idea. Beneath their civilized veneers, Katlin thought, they were little removed from their ancestors, Anglo-Norman for the most part, who had rapaciously seized the land they called their own. Blood sport appealed to them all, even Melissa, who was looking at Angus with shining eyes.
"How exciting," she murmured.
He rewarded her with a languid smile. "You will dress more sensibly, Miss Haversham, won't you?"
Simpering, she assured him that she could be counted on to do so. That seemed to settle the matter. Short of disappointing Charles, which Katlin did seriously consider doing but gave up when she remembered his importance to Innishffarin, Katlin had no choice but to accede.
Chapter Thirteen
When Katlin awoke the ne
xt morning, she felt a spurt of hopefulness. The castle lay wreathed in fog. So silent was it and so white that she might have been living in the midst of a cloud.
But by the time she finished her toilette, the sun had burned off most of the fog and the day lay revealed as clear, brisk and perfect for hunting.
Resigned, she went downstairs but could not bring herself to have more for breakfast than a few sips of tea. This perturbed Mrs. Fergus, who had gone to the trouble of making her special bannock. The crisp oatmeal cakes had quickly become Katlin's favorite, but on this morning she could not manage them. Her apology won a concerned frown from the housekeeper.
"Are you all right, miss? Not ailing, are you?"
Katlin assured her that all was well, despite being unconvinced of that herself. The closer she came to the appointed time for the hunt, the more filled with trepidation she was.
Too vividly, she remembered her first experience at the chase when as a child she had accompanied Lady Margaret on a sojourn in the country. Their hosts, judging the ten-year-old Katlin to be old enough for the sport, included her in the party.
Loving to ride as she did, Katlin thought very little of it until she happened to near the fore when the fox was finally brought to earth. The sight that met her eyes so sickened her that she was never able to forget it.
Ever since, she had avoided hunting whenever she possibly could or, when that was impossible, hung far back. She was not a hypocrite; animals were killed to be eaten. But there were ways of killing that did not involve prolonged periods of torment first.
Her strategy for coping this time was the same as always: she would join in enough so as to avoid drawing attention to herself but she would take care to stay as well back as she could possibly manage. If they did encounter the wolf, she didn't want to be anywhere nearby when he met his fate. That he would, she did not doubt, for Angus's intentions were clear. He would hunt to rid his land of an animal who threatened the flocks, and he would kill without mercy or regret.