‘Brice! By all that’s holy, what are you doing here? It is you, isn’t it? My, how you’ve grown!’
He grinned at her and returned the embrace, kissing her on the cheek before lifting her up and swinging her round like a child. She gurgled with laughter, but didn’t protest.
‘You’ve grown a bit too, Kirsty, but maybe not as much as me,’ he said with a smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be here, but it’s wonderful to see you.’
She was four years older than him, but even so she’d joined in with games of tag and the like when they’d been younger. The last time he’d seen her she had been sixteen and already becoming a young lady, but when no one else was looking, she’d been quite the hoyden. He put her down and was about to make some teasing remark about that, but before he had time to do so, a hand grabbed his shoulder from behind and spun him around. The next thing he knew, someone punched him on the side of the face and for a moment, he saw stars.
‘What the …?’ He danced out of the way in case of a second blow and blinked to clear his head. He vaguely heard Kirsty cry out, but his concentration was all on the man who’d hit him.
Shorter than Brice by half a head, he was nevertheless compact and well muscled. With his dark hair and complexion he would have been quite handsome if it hadn’t been for the mammoth scowl that currently marred his features. Brice guessed the light hazel eyes would likewise be attractive if they hadn’t been filled with rage. He didn’t have time to speculate further, however, as the man charged him again. This time Brice was ready.
He reacted instinctively, without wondering why he was being attacked. As boys, he and Jamie often resorted to fisticuffs so he’d learned to defend himself from an early age. It had become a reflex to just fight back and ask questions later. Killian had taught them both a few tricks when their mother wasn’t about – she would have been horrified, but Killian reasoned that it was part of their education. ‘Of course I don’t want you going round picking fights,’ he’d told them, ‘but if it’s unavoidable, I want you to be able to give a good account of yourselves.’ Brice set about doing exactly that now.
Being taller, he had a longer reach, and he was able to land quite a few blows without being hit in return. The dark-haired man, whose name he gathered was Iain since that’s what Kirsty was shouting, didn’t give up easily though. He seemed able to take everything Brice aimed at him, without faltering. Brice didn’t want to prolong this, so went in close and allowed the man to get in a few hard punches, lulling him into false complacency. Then, when Iain let down his guard for a moment, Brice hit him hard, aiming up under the man’s chin.
He saw the surprise in his opponent’s gaze and quickly followed up with a couple of powerful blows to the stomach and torso. Iain stumbled and would probably have fallen if Brice hadn’t reached out to grab one arm. This had gone too far and he was just about to say ‘Enough!’ but before he had a chance, he suddenly found himself drenched to the skin by a deluge of cold liquid that appeared out of nowhere.
Brice whirled around and came face to face with Marsaili Buchanan, the housekeeper. She was glaring at the two men and she was clutching a large pitcher which must have contained ale just a moment earlier. Its contents were running down Brice’s face and clothes and he wiped some out of his eyes, clenching his jaw to contain the fury. The pungent smell of it already clung to him and he felt the stickiness oozing inside his shirt.
‘What in Hades do you think you’re doing, woman?’ he snapped, breathing hard both from the recent fight and having to control the urge to shout at her for interfering.
‘Stopping you from hurting Iain.’ She stood her ground, green eyes defiant, although he could see her pulse flickering wildly at the base of her throat. He admired her spirit, but just then he was too angry to appreciate what a magnificent sight she was in full battle mode.
‘It’s none of your business,’ he said through clenched teeth. He glanced at Iain to make sure the man wasn’t going to attack him from behind, which by the look in his eyes was all too likely. He was about to tell him to back off, but was forestalled by Marsaili.
‘Iain Seton, have you no sense in that small brain of yours?’ she scolded. ‘Fighting with the new laird on his first day here. Is that any way to behave?’
Brice noticed the resemblance to the older Seton for the first time and wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. Iain was plainly his father’s son, perhaps in more ways than one.
Iain turned his glare on Marsaili. ‘New laird or not, he was kissing Kirsty. I’ll not have anyone poaching on my territory in such a blatant fashion.’
‘She’s my cousin,’ Brice said, understanding dawning. ‘I was only greeting her.’
‘Oh, aye, a likely tale,’ Iain scoffed. ‘Besides, she doesn’t have any cousins.’
‘We’re second cousins really, but kin all the same.’ Brice didn’t see that it made any difference.
Kirsty, who’d been silent up to this point, joined the conversation. ‘If you must know, we haven’t seen each other for ten years. We used to be close so is it to be wondered at if we’re pleased to see one another again?’
‘Very close, I’m sure,’ Iain muttered.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, there’s no reasoning with you. I’ll not argue with such a pig-headed man. Honestly, I’ve had enough of your jealous tantrums.’ She turned her back on Iain and grabbed Brice’s arm. ‘Come, cousin, we’d better find you some soap and water.’
Brice allowed her to lead him towards the house, but sent a glance over his shoulder at Marsaili and Iain, still standing where they’d left them. He nodded at Marsaili, ‘I want a word with you, madam, as soon as I’m clean again. Await me in the great hall, please.’
‘Very well,’ she replied, but her expression was still mulish.
Damned meddlesome woman, he thought. He’d been well on his way to winning his first battle here at Rosyth and if she hadn’t stepped in, he would have shown everyone he wasn’t to be trifled with. He was going to have enough trouble asserting his authority as it was. He didn’t need her to take away a prime opportunity to show them what he was made of.
Well, he’d make sure it never happened again.
Chapter Eight
Marsaili could have kicked herself, but she’d honestly thought the big blond brute was going to hurt Iain badly. He was bigger and undoubtedly more powerful and he’d been fighting like he meant it. Throwing the ale had been the only thing that sprang to mind, but she could see now she should have restrained herself. No doubt she’d find herself out of a job and banished from Rosyth thanks to her over-reaction and then where would she go?
But perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered. After the treatment she’d meted out to the new Lord Rosyth on his previous visit, he’d be well within his rights to dismiss her anyway. She gritted her teeth, a surge of irritation shooting through her. What an underhanded ruse! To pose as a stranger and trick them all like that. What manner of man did such a thing? It was beyond belief. Although to be fair, none of them had asked him any questions or given him the opportunity to explain why he’d come. They couldn’t wait to be rid of him.
Her stomach muscles clenched. That had been a mistake and now they’d pay for it.
‘Haughty bastard,’ Iain muttered next to her, rubbing his ribs which were no doubt smarting from some of the punches he’d received. Marsaili had little sympathy for him, however.
‘You have only yourself to blame,’ she told him roundly when he stared at her in hangdog fashion. ‘If you can’t get it into your head that Kirsty only has eyes for you, you’re a bigger fool than I took you for. There’s no need for these theatrics every time someone so much as looks at her.’
She left him to mull this over and headed back into the house. Somehow she had to make amends to Lord Rosyth, even if it went against the grain. She simply couldn’t imagine living anywhere else and she had no wish to try and find herself another position. This was where she belonged.
When Brice str
ode into the great hall a short time later, she was already there waiting for him. On a table by one of the armchairs she’d placed a tray with fresh ale, newly baked oatcakes and some cheese and butter. She gripped her hands together hard as he walked towards her and tried to read his expression. He was still frowning, and his blue eyes were dark and stormy. Her heart sank.
He was mad as a hornet.
‘Sit down, please,’ he said, surprising her. He seated himself in the chair next to the tray and indicated she should take the other one.
‘But – I’m the housekeeper, your servant,’ Marsaili protested, flustered by his command.
‘That remains to be seen,’ he murmured, making her draw in a sharp breath.
‘Really, my lord, I apologise if I acted hastily, but you’re so much bigger than Iain and I thought for sure you’d –’
He held up a hand to stop the flow of words and pointed at the chair. ‘Please. Sit down and let me do the talking for a moment, Mrs Buchanan.’
She perched on the edge of the chair, uncomfortable with this strange request. It seemed too personal somehow, sitting next to him as if they were acquaintances instead of employer and employee. In fact, his mere presence made her unaccountably flustered again. ‘It’s Miss Buchanan. I’m not married,’ she blurted out, then added the word ‘yet’, although she didn’t know why since she had no intention of letting anyone lead her to the altar. On reflection, it might have been better to allow him to think her a widow, she thought, but it was too late now. She was very conscious of the fact that Seton wasn’t the only one who considered her too young to hold a position of such responsibility. Then again, the new laird would find out her marital status soon enough.
He gave her a measuring stare. ‘Really? Are the men around here blind then?’
Marsaili blinked, then felt her cheeks heat up at what must have been a compliment. He was confusing her, angry one minute and praising her looks the next. ‘I … no,’ she stammered. ‘But I am a very capable housekeeper and if you’re worried about my respectability because I’m not married yet, then you can ask the mistress. I’m sure she’d vouch for me and –’
‘Miss Buchanan,’ he interrupted. ‘That is not the issue at the moment. I am more interested in what happened outside than in your marital status. I’d like to make it absolutely clear I will not tolerate any interference from you whatsoever in future if I’m engaged in a brawl. Understood?’
‘But …’
‘None, Miss Buchanan. It would be most unwise of you to get involved and I can assure you it wasn’t my intention to seriously hurt young Mr Seton.’
‘That’s not what it looked like,’ Marsaili muttered.
‘You’ll have to take my word for it.’
She nodded reluctantly, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘Do you intend to “brawl” often, then?’
His mouth twitched slightly as if her remark had amused him, but it was gone so fast she might have imagined it. ‘No, not if I can help it,’ he said. ‘It will depend entirely on whether the rest of the males here are as hot-headed as young Seton.’
Marsaili had to admit he had a point. Iain had over-reacted and it wasn’t the first time this had happened. She hoped it was the last. She returned her gaze to the new laird whose eyes seemed to have lost some of the martial light in them.
‘Now, if you wish to keep your position as housekeeper, I’d like some straight answers to a few questions please,’ he said.
Marsaili gasped. ‘Of course I do, but … what sort of questions?’
‘Well, you could start by telling me in what capacity Iain Seton is employed here?’
‘Wouldn’t you be better off asking the factor about such things?’
‘Maybe, but I’m asking you.’ He steepled his fingers together and leaned his chin on them, his blue gaze fixed on her in a most disconcerting fashion. Marsaili didn’t understand what game he was playing now, but decided she might as well humour him.
‘Very well. Iain is one of the men in charge of the cattle, among other things.’
The new laird looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I see. Shouldn’t he be up on the shieling then, instead of loitering in the courtyard attacking strangers?’
‘Well, no, everyone’s come down from there by now, but I suppose he ought to have been in the pasture, making sure the cattle don’t get into the crops.’ Marsaili felt a flush spread across her cheeks, although why she was embarrassed on Iain’s behalf she had no idea. It wasn’t her fault if Kirsty’s intended shirked his duties to spend time with his beloved. That was for the young man’s father to sort out.
‘I take it he’s Kirsty’s husband? And yet he’s merely a cattle herder. That seems a bit odd.’
‘Oh, they’re not married yet. She lives here with her mother, of course, and Iain has been here since his father took over as factor. He’s learning how to be one as well. Factor, I mean. Perhaps that’s why he was around.’ She saw Brice frown.
‘But Kirsty must be getting a bit long in the tooth, if you’ll pardon my saying so. She’s, what, twenty-six?’
Marsaili shrugged. ‘Yes, but sadly they can’t afford to marry. Soon, hopefully, but Iain’s father controls the purse strings so they have to wait until he agrees.’
‘What about Kirsty’s dowry? Wasn’t that enough?’
Marsaili looked at him. ‘Have you forgotten, my lord? She has no dowry. This house and everything in it was your father’s and now I gather it’s yours. Her own father had nothing to leave her.’
For some reason this explanation seemed to make him very angry, although Marsaili had no idea why. His expression darkened as before and she saw him clenching his jaw. ‘I see,’ he said, his voice clipped and cold.
He was silent for a while, as if mulling this over, and Marsaili ventured to ask, ‘Will that be all then, my lord? I have duties to attend to.’ She sincerely hoped this was true and he wasn’t intending to replace her with someone else.
He took a deep breath and fixed her with his piercing gaze again. She felt the palms of her hands grow moist and wondered if he was about to dismiss her. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly in order to stay calm.
‘Ah, yes, your duties. How long have you been the housekeeper here, if I may ask?’ he said.
She lifted her chin a fraction. ‘For four years,’ she said. ‘And no one’s complained so far,’ she added for good measure. Except Mr Seton, but he doesn’t count as he complains about everything.
‘Really? Perhaps this room is never in use then,’ he commented, a sarcastic note in his voice which she took exception to.
‘What do you mean?’
He pointed to the fireplace. ‘Cobwebs. A pile of old ash that hasn’t been swept up.’ He indicated the rest of the room. ‘Hangings which haven’t been taken outside and beaten for what looks like years. Dirt everywhere. A general air of neglect. If this is how you take care of your duties, I’ll need a very good excuse to keep you on.’
Marsaili swallowed hard. He was right, damn him, but she couldn’t tell him the real reason the hall had been allowed to get into such a state was that Seton thought it better if Rosyth House didn’t look too prosperous to any visitors. He’d reasoned that the shabbier it seemed, the less likely it was anyone would want to appropriate it. Looking around her, she wasn’t so sure any longer.
‘This room hasn’t been used for many years,’ she said finally. ‘The mistress takes her meals upstairs in her private quarters with her daughters, so everyone else eats in the kitchen.’
‘Daughters? Are you telling me Flora isn’t married either?’
Marsaili blinked. ‘Well, no, she isn’t. Like I told you, there was no money for dowries. Flora looks after her mother.’
‘Damn it all to hell,’ he swore and shot to his feet, startling her into standing up as well. ‘Someone will pay for this.’
Marsaili didn’t know what he meant, but she was sure of one thing – she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his wrath.
She wondered how soon it would be before she could escape from his presence?
Brice took a deep breath and tried to calm down, running a hand through his hair distractedly. He noticed Marsaili’s startled look and realised she must think him a madman or at the very least, exceedingly rude.
‘I apologise,’ he said curtly. ‘I didn’t mean to swear in front of a lady.’
But damn and double damn! He was sure his father had told him he’d sent dowries for the girls years ago. Five thousand merks each, wasn’t it? So why hadn’t they arrived? It was one thing for the estate to be mismanaged, that could be pure laziness on the part of the factor and others. But for a large sum of money to go missing, that was altogether different.
It was outright theft and punishable by law.
Marsaili watched him with wary eyes as he paced in front of the fireplace and Brice forced himself to return to the matter at hand. The dowries could wait, the great hall couldn’t. ‘Whether Aunt Ailsa chooses to eat downstairs or not, I’d like the rest of us to use this room from now on,’ he stated. ‘I want it cleaned and made ready for supper today, if possible. You may hire extra help from the township if needed. I’ll make sure they’re paid. Can you also ask the cook to prepare a feast for everyone, please? And I mean everyone, from the township or anywhere else on the estate, if they’ve a mind to come. There should be victuals aplenty over there, so none of her watery, tasteless broths, if you please, or she’ll find herself without employment and all.’ He gestured towards the huge pile of goods stacked by the front door.
‘As you wish. Do I take it I am still employed then?’ Marsaili’s gaze challenged him, but he’d had enough of fighting for one day. He was tired of being angry, especially after recent events.
Highland Storms Page 7