Duncan had heard this…this person making love to his father almost every night for an entire summer? Either Margaret Ross had changed rather drastically in the last twenty-six years or Willow was glad she would never have to meet Galen Ross. Duncan’s father must have been a dragon himself—or a really brave man.
Willow finally pulled her gaze from Margaret Ross, looked past Luke standing by the fridge, past Molly doing dishes at the sink, and stopped when she came to a man who could be Duncan’s identical twin minus a few years. Camden Ross was breathtakingly gorgeous, Willow decided. He was nearly as tall and just as muscular as Duncan, had the same piercing green eyes—which were studying her back with unabashed interest and a bit of male appreciation—and overlong, wavy hair that was blonder than Molly’s. There had to be Viking blood somewhere in the Ross ancestry.
The tension in the kitchen kicked up several notches when Duncan quietly led Willow to the island counter, pulled out a stool for her, and waited until she sat down. Then he walked over to his mother sitting at the other end of the island—also studying Willow with unabashed interest but with a bit more critical regard—and gave her a familial kiss on the cheek.
“Hello, Mother,” he said quietly. “How nice of ya to come for a visit. If you’d have given me some notice, I would have dusted a bit and cooked a special dinner.”
“You knew perfectly well I would be coming after Molly,” Margaret said in a decidedly more British than Scottish accent, tilting her head to glare up at Duncan.
But that was when Willow saw it, right there in Margaret Ross’s eyes, the unmistakable hunger of a mother feasting on the sight of her son again. For one unguarded moment, Willow saw pride, tenderness, and unconditional love as Margaret’s beautiful, vivid green stare remained locked on Duncan’s utterly calm face.
Willow relaxed back in her seat with a silent sigh. The woman was a sham. She might wear a mantle of rigid nobility, but beneath that seemingly impervious cloak beat the heart of a marshmallow. Duchess Margaret Went Ross was nothing more than a love-struck mama who obviously didn’t have a clue how to deal with her independent, overwhelming children.
“Hello, Mrs. Ross,” Willow said with a warm smile. “I’m Mikaela’s aunt, Willow Foster,” she told her, figuring that was the best way to explain who she was. “Is this your first visit to Maine?”
Margaret tore her gaze away from her eldest son, and the marshmallow was suddenly gone, replaced by assessing eyes the exact mirror image of Duncan’s. “Yes, Miss Foster, this is my first time in Maine. And it’s ‘Your Grace,’ not Mrs.”
Willow waved that away. “Oh, we don’t stand on ceremony here, because it gets much too complicated. You can call me Willy.” Willow ignored the stunned silence from Luke and Molly and Duncan, and especially from “Her Grace.” She instead turned her attention to Camden. “Mikaela said you brought her a bottle of whisky. What an unusual gift for a seven-year-old. Just the other day, we were discussing children having alcohol. You must be Camden. I’ve heard a little bit about you from Duncan.”
Camden nodded from where he was leaning against the counter beside Molly, his smile sincerely warm and maybe in league with the devil. “I’ve been hearing quite a lot about you, counselor,” he said, using Duncan’s endearment to let her know he talked with his brother often. “And don’t worry, I told Mikaela the whisky was for her twenty-first birthday. It came out of the cask the year she was born.”
“It’s our tradition, Miss Foster,” Margaret interjected, “to gift children in our family with a bottle of whisky from a cask tapped during their birth year.”
“How sweet that you consider Mikaela family, just as I do,” Willow returned to Margaret before looking back at Camden—simply because he was such a pleasure to look at. “And that was nice of you to think of Nick, too. So,” she said, clasping her hands together and leaning on the island. “This is a wonderful family reunion. I know Duncan’s been looking forward to all of you coming to Puffin Harbor to see him. We should have a proper celebration tonight at The Rosach Pub.”
Her suggestion was met with more silence, until finally Duncan sighed loud enough to make his mother flinch. “Ya said ya wanted to use my computer?” he reminded Willow, nodding toward his office.
“Oh, that can wait, Dunky. I’d rather have tea with your mother,” she said, nodding toward the teacup sitting in front of Margaret.
Duncan’s glare should have knocked her off her stool, but Willow simply propped her elbows on the island, dropped her chin onto the back of her good hand, and smiled at his mother. “Do you have tea every afternoon in Scotland, Margaret? With scones? We have a lot in common, you and I—did you know that?”
“We do?” Margaret asked softly, sounding as if her throat were too constricted to speak.
Willow nodded in her hands. “There are times we’d both love to smack Duncan with our shoe.” She canted her head, still keeping her chin on her hands. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“I would never…smack one of my children, especially not with my shoe. What happened to your face, Miss Foster? Is that a bruise? And what did you do to your hand?”
Willow hopped off the stool, walked past a gaping Molly, and took the lovely china teapot off the warming plate on the stove. “I totaled my truck when I got run off the road by a criminal I’m investigating.” She waved her hand. “My wrist is only cracked, so I’ll get the splint off in another week. You’ve never even been tempted to kick Duncan? Not even when he was a teenager?”
“Of course not. I thought you were a lawyer. How come you’re investigating criminals? Don’t you have detectives to do that?”
“So Duncan has told you about me,” Willow said, refilling Margaret’s teacup. “I wasn’t officially investigating anyone—I was just looking into a problem for a friend. Molly, aren’t you going to join us? And Duncan, don’t you and Luke and Camden have some catching up to do?” Willow asked, looking at the wall clock. “We’ll head to The Rosach around seven. And we’ll invite Rachel and Kee and the kids. Oh, and Mabel. She’ll likely have the lobster roll.”
“Who’s Mabel?” Margaret asked, folding her hands in her lap.
“She’s my landlady in Augusta. Rachel went to get her because the media is likely camped out in front of my apartment, and I don’t want them to harass Mabel.”
“Why is the media there?”
“Because I’m about to be indicted on bribery charges, not to mention drunk-driving charges,” Willow told her with a smile, pouring tea into the two cups Molly set on the island. “This is beautiful china.” She looked at Duncan. “You have amazingly girly tastes, Dunky.”
“I sent him the china,” Margaret said, now holding the tiny cup in front of her. “For a housewarming present. It’s part of my mother’s set that he will inherit. The rest is in storage for when Duncan gets married.”
Willow lifted a brow. “The rest?” she asked, glancing at the hutch on the far wall, then back at Margaret.
Margaret nodded. “It’s service for one hundred and twenty. I didn’t want to overwhelm him, so I sent him enough for a dinner for twelve.”
Willow frowned at Duncan. “Do you have eleven friends?”
The poor man looked like he wanted to kick her. Either that or kick himself for bringing her home to meet his mother. Willow shooed him ahead of her as she made her way back to her stool. “You three go put your heads together and come up with a way to sneak into that waste site tonight. We have to find those crates.”
“That would be the singular ‘we,’ counselor,” Duncan said over his shoulder as she pushed him from the kitchen. “You are not sneaking into anything, except maybe the network at your office.”
“Oh, my secretary’s going to love that,” she said, motioning for Luke to escape with Duncan. She stopped Camden by taking hold of his sleeve. “You make really fine whisky, Camden. I never have a headache the next day.”
Camden leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It’s our aim ta please, lass. G
o easy on my mother,” he whispered, still leaning close. “She’s not liking that her children are getting scattered ta the four winds.”
“Do people call her Maggie?” Willow whispered back.
That devil came dancing in Camden’s eyes again. “Only her cousin, the queen,” he said softly, straightening to saunter down the hall after his brother and Luke.
Willow was left staring after him, utterly immobilized. Her cousin, the queen? Of England? Oh, she was going to take off her shoe and beat Duncan to a pulp the minute she got him alone. The man really was a troglodyte, and he had the sense of humor to prove it, too.
Willow finally turned around with a pleasant smile plastered on her face, and returned to her stool at the island. Molly set down a plate of thick, gooey-looking brownies, and Willow could have kissed the young woman. Willow immediately grabbed three brownies and set them on a napkin she pulled from the holder, licked her fingers, and turned to Duncan’s mother. “So, Mrs. Ross, you must be excited that your baby girl is getting married. Have you spoken to the sheep farmer’s mom yet, to start the wedding plans?”
Chapter Seventeen
It was a somber celebration at The Rosach that evening, considering the varied moods of those in attendance. Only Mabel was oblivious to the underlying currents running through the private room on the second floor of Duncan’s pub. Willow’s landlady was instead involved with eating the famous Rosach lobster roll and discovering that she also had a taste for fine Scotch.
Margaret Ross was still recovering from this afternoon’s girl chat in Duncan’s kitchen, but at least the woman was speaking to her daughter again—albeit stiffly—now that Molly had admitted Ben Zane was nothing more than her attempt to be taken seriously. Mother and daughter were huddled next to the crackling hearth that was an exact replica of the one downstairs.
The men—Duncan, Kee, Luke, Jason, Camden, and Ahab—were sitting at one end of the long trestle table that dominated the banquet room, drinking Scotch and talking about only God knew what. Willow thought they might be discussing the pesticide and Gramps’s disappearance, since all the men had serious faces.
Rachel, Jane, Mikaela, and Nick were sitting at the opposite end of the table with Willow, all of them drinking soda and picking at their food. They weren’t talking about much of anything, what with Gramps being foremost on their minds, though they were careful not to worry Mikaela about him. Nick was blissfully stuffing his face with french fries, getting more ketchup in his hair than on his food.
The steps leading up from downstairs gave an ominous creak, and everyone looked over to see a tall, strapping man open the door and step into the room. “Ah be looking for a lass named Molly Ross,” he said, slipping his hat off and tucking it under the package he had tucked under his arm. “Ah bin told she’s up here. Ma name’s Benjamin Zane, an Ah’ve come from New Zealand ta fetch ma bride.”
The declaration was delivered with bold conviction.
The ensuing silence was absolute.
And Benjamin Zane looked like he was seventeen years old.
Five men immediately stood and turned toward him. Ahab remained seated, apparently figuring Molly’s impending nuptials were none of his business.
Molly also stood with a squeak, her eyes the size of dinner plates as she looked around for a crack to crawl into. Her mother, apparently, was planning on joining her. But then Molly suddenly turned and straightened her shoulders. “I’m Molly,” she said.
The wall of men stepped in front of Ben Zane when he started toward her. The young man stopped. “Are ye all her brothers?” he asked without even flinching. “Which one of ye left the message on ma machine?”
Willow was having a hard time understanding Ben, his accent was so strong. She couldn’t misunderstand the male posturing, however, especially from Duncan and Camden. Luke didn’t look very pleased, either.
“I’m Duncan Ross, Molly’s oldest brother and the one who left the message.” Duncan raised an eyebrow at Ben. “I asked ya to call me, not come here.”
Ben shifted his package and hat to his left arm and held out his newly freed right hand. “Yar message reminded me of ma manners, Mr. Ross, and had me realizing ma poor mum is likely rolling in her grave for my not coming to ask fer Molly’s hand proper like.”
Duncan shook the boy’s hand, then tucked his own hands behind his back and straightened to his full height. “Exactly how old are ya, Mr. Zane?” he asked.
“Eighteen this last March,” Ben imparted, leaning to the side to see Molly, apparently missing—or not at all worried by—the body language of all the men. Ben grinned at Molly, his eyes shining with male delight as he soaked in the sight of the woman he’d traveled halfway around the world to meet.
Camden stepped between. “I’m Molly’s other brother, Camden Ross. Are ya expecting us ta turn over our sister simply because ya got on a plane and came ta ‘fetch’ her?”
Ben didn’t have far to look up to see into Camden’s eyes. “Ah’m a landowner of good standing back home,” he began, only to turn to speak to Duncan. “Ah run a flock of four thousand sheep and two hundred cattle with ma brother. We inherited our ranch when our parents died last summer, and it’s debt free. Ah don’t drink ta excess, smoke, or brawl. Ah attend church when Ah can, ah don’t beat women, and there’s no bairns running in town with ma eyes.”
Ben moved directly in front of Duncan. “With a wife by ma side, Ah can branch out our ranch and double ma herd of cattle and increase ma flock to make us a good living. Ah give ya ma word, Mr. Ross, Ah’ll take good care of yar sister.”
The entire room held its collective breath while Duncan crossed his arms over his chest and silently studied Ben Zane. Finally, he reached out and slapped Ben on the shoulder. “Ya have my blessing, son,” he said, using his hand on Ben’s shoulder to push him toward Molly.
A collective gasp ran through the room. Margaret Ross actually yelped. Molly, her face as pale as new-fallen snow, took several steps back until she was pressed against the wall.
“Duncan!” Margaret snapped.
Duncan held up his hand. “Last I knew, I was still head of this household. Ya have a problem with that, have your cousin rescind my title.” That said, Duncan calmly sat back down at the table and picked up his glass of Scotch.
Everyone, including Mabel, turned to stare at the young couple in the corner, and watched as Ben Zane thrust his brown paper package out to an utterly frozen Molly. He finally had to lift her hand and place the package in it.
“Ah remembered from yar emails that ya like lace.” He then had to start unwrapping it for her, since Molly still couldn’t seem to move. “This was ma mum’s, that she carefully spun from our own wool and tatted herself. It’s ma bride’s gift to ye, Molly.”
“I—I didn’t…ya asked me but I…I didn’t say yes, Ben,” Molly whispered so softly that everyone had to lean in to hear her. Even Mikaela and Nick seemed to realize something important was happening, and were being as quiet as church mice.
“Oh, Ah know ye haven’t said yes,” Ben agreed. “Which is why Ah’ve come ta court ye in person.”
Willow could see Molly’s hand shaking as she picked the delicate wool lace out of the paper and held it up. She turned to her mother, her deep green eyes pleading for help.
“Mr. Zane,” Margaret said. “I am Molly’s mother, Her Grace, Margaret Went Ross.”
Ben’s gaze, which had turned to Margaret, quickly snapped back to Molly. “Ya’re a lady?” he whispered, his composure slipping for the first time. He backed up a step. “Ya didn’t say that in yar emails.”
“I—I didn’t think it was important,” Molly whispered.
“It’s not,” Duncan said from the table, not bothering to look at them. “Love knows nothing of titles. Is that not right, Mother?” he asked, finally turning to look at Margaret, one of his very dukeish-looking brows raised in question.
Margaret Ross blushed to the roots of her natural blond hair, and began studying the tiny diamond o
n her left ring finger.
Duncan turned in his seat to face Ben. “Our father was a commoner, Zane. He was brewing whisky when he met my mother on a stormy road in Spierhenge. So don’t worry, ya’ve fallen in love with a lady whose family doesn’t bow to tradition, but instead bends it to suit ourselves. Ya do love Molly, don’t ya, Ben?”
“I—ah, Ah’ve only just met her, sir,” Ben stammered, fine beads of sweat breaking out on his deeply tanned forehead. “We’ve only been corresponding six weeks.”
Poor Ben looked like he was wishing he’d never bought a computer, much less gotten on the Internet. Willow’s heart went out to the man. Boy. Young man. Apparently her title wasn’t the only thing Molly had forgotten to mention to Ben. It seemed neither of them had thought to ask each other’s age.
Willow wondered if Margaret might finally be ready to take off her shoe and smack Duncan. The duchess was sitting in her overstuffed chair by the hearth again, still studying her ring, her face flushed with…Willow didn’t know if Margaret was embarrassed or simply thinking about her commoner husband.
The stairs creaked again, this time with running footsteps. Everyone turned to the door, and a young woman came rushing in, her eyes wide with distress.
She ran directly to Duncan. “There’s two state police detectives downstairs,” she said in a winded whisper. “They’re asking for Willow Foster.”
Duncan stared into his drink as silence returned to the room. Willow closed her eyes and dropped her head into her hands. Damn. She had known this was coming. John had warned her that it would only be a matter of time before they put together enough evidence to actually arrest her.
“Ya can play by your attorney general rules, counselor, or ya can break them,” Duncan said softly, causing Willow to look down the table at him. He was deadly serious and ominously calm.
Did that mean he was angry? With her? With John Pike?
“It’s a formality,” she told him. “They have to book me, but then I’ll get out on bail.”
The Dangerous Protector Page 21