Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  He wasn’t interested in finding a wife any longer, but that didn’t mean he intended to live like a monk. He’d spent enough time in his brother’s company to know there were plenty of women who were willing to offer more than flirtatious glances. And he’d been perfectly serious when he told Marsaili the so-called respectable ladies were the best. They were usually starved of real love-making by husbands who only used them as breeding cows. A man who knew how to pleasure them could reap the benefits without risk of being leg-shackled. As long as said husband didn’t find out, of course.

  Brice didn’t want to think about his brother, but had to admit he was indebted to Jamie when it came to such matters. And since he’d found out about Elisabet’s betrayal, he’d decided to make good use of this knowledge. He should have listened to Jamie on that score as well – women were only there for temporary enjoyment. They were all treacherous bitches, especially the beautiful ones.

  He swallowed down a gristly lump of mutton and tried not to choke on it or the feelings of anger that welled up inside him yet again. They can never hurt me now, he thought savagely. I won’t let them.

  Use the ladies who were willing, but don’t get caught, that would be his motto from now on.

  As Mr Aaron rode out of the gates and down through the township, Seton stared after him for as long as he was visible, then spat into the dust.

  ‘Good riddance,’ he muttered and headed back towards the house. His son Iain had been hovering behind him, and fell into step beside him. In his mid-twenties, the boy was slightly taller than his father, but not by much. Thank goodness he doesn’t tower over me like that Englishman, Seton thought. That would be unbearable. He added, ‘I’m getting tired of these Sassenach’s snooping around. They’ve nothing to find here.’

  ‘Are you sure he was English?’ Iain asked. ‘I heard him put on quite a creditable Scots accent.’

  Seton sneered. ‘Not creditable enough. You could hear quite clearly he wasn’t from around here. No, I’m sure.’

  Mr Aaron had set his teeth on edge. The man had eyes that seemed to see all too much and Seton mistrusted the easy charm and pretended good humour. These were all the tricks of someone who was after something.

  ‘I wonder why he came,’ Iain said. ‘I mean, no one’s been here for ages now. I thought they’d lost interest in the Rosyth estate.’

  Seton shrugged. ‘Who knows? Mayhap they’ve passed some new law whereby they can annex the holdings of absent landlords. It makes no difference to us though, we’ll soon have our own back. Then the Kinross family can fend for themselves.’

  Iain frowned at this comment. ‘You’re not still hoping the government will give us back Bailliebroch, are you? It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I know that well enough. Naturally I’d have preferred to be given it for nothing, but we’ll soon be able to buy it back and I doubt they’ll refuse to take our money.’

  ‘Our money?’ Iain raised an eyebrow at his father.

  As Iain knew, Seton had been siphoning off profits from the Rosyth estate for years now. Very soon he’d have enough to buy back his own family’s lands. The lands his idiot older brother had gone and lost because he didn’t have the foresight to sign them over to someone who wasn’t a known Jacobite, the way the Rosyth laird had done. Damn him! If the dolt hadn’t fled to France, Seton would have wrung his scrawny neck himself.

  No, Bailliebroch was his by right, especially now Duncan had died without an heir. He would get it back, whatever it took.

  ‘Yes, ours,’ he said firmly. ‘The Rosyth laird doesn’t need it. What does he care for this place? Hasn’t set foot on Scottish soil for years and isn’t likely to either. That’s played right into our hands and besides, I’ve been busy garnering support from a certain quarter. When the time comes, which it will soon, there will be no objection to us buying Bailliebroch.’

  Iain frowned again. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. Those Redcoats can’t be trusted, you’ve said so yourself.’

  ‘With the right incentive, they can. Gold is a powerful motivator. Either way, we don’t need the likes of him,’ he nodded in the direction Mr Aaron had gone, ‘sticking his nose in where it’s not wanted.’

  ‘Well, I doubt he’ll come back,’ Iain said with a grin. ‘After the way he was treated here, he’d be a fool to.’

  ‘Amen to that. I sincerely hope I never set eyes on him again.’

  Marsaili also breathed a sigh of relief when the stranger left. After stripping the bed he’d used – more washing, blast it! – and straightening the covers, she retreated to the kitchen. There Greine was in a slightly better mood since she was allowed to get on with her normal duties, rather than heating endless cauldrons of water.

  ‘Did our guest enjoy his parritch?’ she asked with a grin. ‘I seem to have accidentally spilled a mite too much salt into it.’

  Marsaili laughed, but she regretted that such measures were necessary. It seemed cruel, but she remembered what the Redcoats had done to a lot of the Highlanders in the not so distant past and hardened her heart. ‘I’ve no idea. I sent Isobel up with the tray and she’s so shy she probably dumped it next to him and fled.’

  Kirsty came down the back stairs and peeked round the door frame. ‘Is it safe for us to come out now?’ she asked, her pale blue eyes searching the room.

  Marsaili smiled. ‘Yes, all clear. The ogre is gone.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I hate skulking upstairs all

  day long. I don’t know how Flora puts up with Mother’s endless chatter. I mean, she doesn’t actually say anything. She has nothing to talk about since she never goes

  anywhere.’

  Kirsty sat down at the big, scrubbed pine table in the centre of the kitchen. She picked up a paring knife and began to help Marsaili peel onions. ‘So was he really that bad then, the visitor? I heard tell he was rather good-looking.’ She threw a twinkling glance in Marsaili’s direction.

  ‘If you like brash, self-centred men, certainly.’ Marsaili tried her best to adopt a nonchalant expression. If she let on that Mr Aaron had rattled her in more ways than one, she’d never hear the end of it. Kirsty was a determined match-maker who wanted everyone to be as in love as she was herself. She could never understand Marsaili’s reluctance to even consider the candidates she promoted.

  ‘It sounds like a perfect match for you,’ Kirsty teased.

  ‘Kirsty,’ Marsaili warned. ‘I’ve told you before, I’m not interested.’

  ‘Oh, come now, just because your mother was ill-treated by your step-father doesn’t mean all husbands are like him. And with your looks, I’m sure you could find one you can wrap around your little finger.’

  Marsaili gave her a scornful look. ‘What would be the use of such a weakling? If that’s what Iain’s letting you do, he’s not half the man I took him for.’

  ‘Oh, there are ways and means.’ Kirsty smiled smugly. ‘Besides, it’s give and take, you know.’

  ‘Hmm, well, it’s not for me.’

  She made her voice sound firm, but even so an image of Mr Aaron’s smiling features rose up in her mind’s eye.

  Thank goodness he was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Brice headed north at first, since that was the direction he’d said he was going in, but once he reached Aberfeldy, he turned and rode south-east, towards Dunkeld. From there, the road led back to Stirling via Perth and although it was longer than his previous route, he wasn’t delayed too much. He needed to get to Edinburgh to prepare for the next phase of his father’s plan and he found he was actually looking forward to the challenge.

  He still hadn’t quite grasped that he was now the owner of a huge Highland estate. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be, since he’d always imagined himself living in Sweden for the rest of his life. Still, if it was his birthright, then the least he could do was to make it profitable before he sold it, he reckoned. Besides which he needed to find out what Mr Seton was up to. Or not, as the case might be �
�

  There had been a lot to learn in quite a short time before he left Sweden. Although Brice knew how his father’s Swedish manor house, Askeberga, was run, he was well aware a Highland estate was different in many ways. For one thing, it was much larger. The agriculture was also mainly based on rearing cattle, Killian had told him, unlike their Swedish acres which produced mostly grain. But with a bit of guidance from his father, Brice was sure he could manage.

  ‘Tell me exactly how things should be done, please,’ Brice said. ‘Then I’ll be better able to see whether the factor has been negligent or not.’

  Killian handed him a notebook. ‘It’s all in here, everything I can remember. I thought it best to write it down since I won’t be there to answer your questions on the spot.’

  ‘Thank you. So what’s he like, this Colin Seton?’ Brice asked.

  Killian shrugged. ‘I don’t really know him very well. His brother Duncan owned the neighbouring estate of Bailliebroch before the forty-five, but it was confiscated and Duncan fled abroad. Colin, who didn’t take any part in the uprising, was hoping it would be given to him to look after at the very least, but the authorities thought otherwise. The house was burned to the ground and the family fled before the Government forces came.’

  ‘What, all of them? The tenants too?’

  ‘No, the tenants were allowed to stay on. The ones who weren’t suspected of being Jacobites, that is. Those were shot or taken prisoner. Then a factor from outside their clan was appointed and Colin and his family sought shelter at Rosyth. I only heard about it afterwards, but apparently my grandfather had been great friends with Duncan’s father, so he appointed Colin factor at Rosyth in my absence just a few months before he died. It seemed a good solution, so I didn’t challenge this decision.’

  ‘But now you suspect him of cheating you … us?’

  Killian nodded. ‘Something’s not right, that’s for certain. I can’t believe the estate would yield so little year after year.’

  Brice thought for a moment. ‘What about aunt Ailsa and my cousins? Surely they’d keep an eye on things?’

  ‘Well, I’ve not heard from them in a while. Ailsa has always been frail and to be honest, I don’t think she knows the first thing about running a household, never mind an estate. And the girls, as I said, should be married and gone by now. The eldest will be about twenty-eight if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘So what do you suggest? Shall I go in and take over the reins and fire Seton?’

  ‘No, not right away. We need to be able to prove he’s not doing his job and that may not be easy. I think a little stealth is called for.’ Killian had smiled and outlined his plan. ‘What do you say?

  Brice had smiled back – his first genuine smile for weeks – and agreed.

  Thinking back now to everything he’d seen at Rosyth, Brice had no regrets about the spying mission. It had been clear just by looking out of his window that the place had been mismanaged. He’d seen dilapidation everywhere, a garden overrun with bushes and weeds and a dovecote which didn’t seem to be in use. All the men had been lazing about and although he’d caught a glimpse of cattle in the pasture beyond the fields, there weren’t nearly as many as there ought to be.

  The women had been busy with the washing, but even from a distance he’d noticed the sheets they were hanging out were threadbare and patched. Children playing in the yard wore an odd assortment of clothes, as if they were hand-me-downs or remade from bigger garments. And the women themselves had on faded skirts and shawls with holes in.

  It seemed as if Killian’s worst fears were realised.

  ‘Time for a change,’ Brice muttered. ‘I’d say some people need a wake-up call and no mistake.’ He smiled again at the prospect and nudged Starke into a canter. ‘Come on, my friend, we have work to do.’

  Brice rode into the courtyard of Rosyth House almost exactly two weeks after he’d left it, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two so-called kellachs followed in his wake, laden with all manner of goods. They were primitive carts with solid wheels, well suited to use on the rough Highland tracks, but they weren’t able to take very heavy loads so Brice had also brought six garrons carrying as much as they could. A small herd of black cattle, twenty goats and some sheep came next, driven by two youths he’d hired for the purpose. It was a slow procession and therefore he wasn’t surprised to find Seton and what seemed like most of the house’s inhabitants waiting for him. There would have been ample time for one of the villagers to run over and alert them to his arrival.

  He came to a halt directly in front of the scowling man and smiled. ‘Good morning, Mr Seton. I trust I find you well?’

  The man’s frown deepened and Brice imagined that if Seton had been a dog, his hackles would have been well and truly up by now. ‘You’re out travelling again? Or did you forget something?’ Seton said, none too graciously, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of the cavalcade entering the courtyard in Brice’s wake.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did.’ Brice widened his smile. ‘I completely forgot to tell you I’m the new Lord Rosyth.’ He dismounted with a graceful jump and landed only inches in front of Seton. ‘Brice Aaron Kinross is my name. I believe my father might have mentioned me in his letters?’

  At least twenty pairs of eyes were fixed on them and Brice could almost feel the weight of those stares as something tangible. There was a susurration of surprise from the onlookers, but he ignored everyone else and kept his gaze trained on Seton. He knew very well the others would take their cue from the factor, as they had on his previous visit.

  Seton had stilled upon hearing his announcement, his mouth falling open a fraction. He stood as if paralysed by lightning for a long moment. When Brice continued to stare into the man’s eyes without wavering to show that he was serious, Seton finally drew in a long breath and blinked. ‘You have proof of this, I take it?’ he said, his voice not quite steady. ‘I’m sure you don’t expect me to accept such a claim otherwise.’

  Brice nodded. ‘Of course.’ He’d come prepared and reached into his saddle-bags to retrieve the documents Rory had procured for him. ‘Here’s the legal documentation.’

  Seton took the papers reluctantly, as if he was afraid they’d burn him, and unrolled the official looking missives. And metaphorically speaking, they might well singe you, Brice thought to himself. Outwardly, he remained calm while the factor glanced at the first one. A long silence ensued, but Brice waited patiently.

  ‘I’ll have to read these more carefully,’ Seton said at last and folded them again.

  ‘Certainly.’ Brice held out his hand for the papers; he wasn’t about to let them out of his sight. ‘You may peruse them at your leisure later. For now, I’d be grateful if someone could see to my horse and …’ He gestured to the rest of the convoy as it came to a halt behind him. ‘I’ll need the kellachs unloaded and the animals put in a pen or enclosure. All the goods can just be stowed in the great hall for now, I suppose, then we can sort out where it’s going later. It’s probably a task for the housekeeper, in any case.’ He glanced around, but couldn’t see her among the bystanders, which was a shame. He’d been looking forward to surprising her almost as much as he had Seton.

  The factor handed back the documents and looked as if he wanted to protest against these orders, but although he opened his mouth, no words came out. After a moment, his expression became shuttered and he bowed, wisely choosing not to dispute Brice’s authority in this instance. ‘Fàilte then, my lord,’ he said, even though Brice was sure the last thing Seton wanted was to welcome him. ‘I shall look forward to working with you.’

  Brice noticed he said ‘with’, not ‘for’, as if they were equals, but let it go. He’d shocked the man and it wasn’t his intention to take away all his dignity in front of everyone. Until he could prove that Seton was guilty of gross mismanagement, he had to tread warily. It was even possible the factor was innocent and the blame lay elsewhere. It would be best to make sure before flinging any accusat
ions about, Brice thought.

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied.

  Seton turned to shout, ‘You heard the man, move yourselves!’ Then he strode off without offering any assistance.

  Brice took a deep breath and smiled when he noticed Archie peeping out from behind another, taller, boy. He beckoned him forward and held out Starke’s reins. ‘Here, you can be in charge of my horse. You know what to do, right?’

  Archie beamed at him and stroked Starke’s muzzle. ‘Aye, sir … er, my lord, I dae.’ He glanced over his shoulder to make sure everyone else was out of earshot before whispering, ‘And right glad I am ye’re back and ye’re no’ Mr Aaron ony mair.’

  Brice laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Me too, Archie. Off you go now. Get someone to help you, eh?’

  He watched the boy lead the huge horse away, summoning the taller lad to join him. Brice knew they wouldn’t come to any harm because Starke was the gentlest horse in Christendom and wouldn’t hurt a fly, despite his size. Satisfied the animal would be looked after this time, he turned his attention to overseeing the unloading of the goods. He didn’t just observe, but carried in his fair share. This resulted in some surprised looks, but he pretended not to notice. The inhabitants of Rosyth House would find out soon enough he wasn’t the kind of master who’d sit still and watch others do all the work.

  Just as the last of the kellachs’ contents were being carried indoors, a woman came round the corner of the house and stopped to stare at all the commotion. She was clearly a lady, although her gown was faded and worn. Ash-blonde hair framed a heart-shaped face and Brice glimpsed pale, but sparkling blue eyes. She was shorter and plumper than the housekeeper he’d met on the previous occasion, but still attractive. When her eyes came to rest on him, she let out a shriek and came running over to throw her arms around his neck.