Taken By the Laird

by Margo Maguire

  She fairly melted with delight and gratitude.

  “Let’s not let it get cold,” Hugh said. He slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.

  Standing fully naked before him, Brianna cupped his face in her hands and kissed him lightly, as a courtesan might do to a generous benefactor. And, as delightful as the setting was, Bree knew better than to form any deeper attachment to this charming little room or the warm, intimate bedchamber at the far end of the gallery.

  Or to Laird Glenloch himself. She put a seductive smile on her face. “Thank you. ’Twas very thoughtful.”

  He touched her chin, then skimmed his hand down to her throat and the center of her chest. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and he took her hand and assisted her as she stepped into the tub.

  And then he left.

  Hugh shouldn’t have been surprised at how quickly his cock had roared to life when he held Brianna’s hand and steadied her when she stepped naked into the hot water. She never failed to arouse him.

  He saw that he’d abraded the skin of her throat and breasts with his whiskers, and it crossed his mind that he should make a point of shaving before they went to bed—

  Except that such an accommodation would hardly be necessary, since Stonehaven’s magistrate would be coming to Glenloch today. Hugh could not imagine the man allowing anything to delay his questions for Brianna, not when the murder of a Stonehaven official was at issue. And afterward, Hugh would take her to Killiedown as he’d promised.

  The first things he saw when he went down to the library were the shoes he’d bought her. They had been a purely practical acquisition, for her old boots fit her ill, and Amelia’s shoes could not be any better.

  The purchase meant naught. Hugh knew it was unwise to become too accustomed to any one lover. Hopes and expectations always followed—none of which he intended to fulfill. He told himself ’twould actually be a relief when he returned Brianna to Killiedown Manor, and went back to his town house in London where there was any number of available bed partners from which to choose.

  But he did not know when he would be able to leave Glenloch. There could no longer be any doubt that Malcolm MacGowan was guilty of embezzling the Glenloch brandy and taking potential income away from the Falkburn folk. It followed that he was also responsible for Kincaid’s death.

  But what part did Roddington play in all this?

  Hugh hoped MacGowan had left the district forever. If the man had any sense, he would have gone as far away as possible, instead of staying to be brought up on murder charges. Perhaps his meeting with Roddington had been by chance, and the marquess had recognized him and offered to take him out of the district.

  As much as Hugh would like to believe that, he did not think so. Roddington did naught for anyone without a price. If the two had met in Stonehaven, there had to have been a reason, and Hugh knew he wasn’t going to like it if he ever discovered what it was.

  The marquess might not have been directly involved in Kincaid’s murder, but his association with MacGowan was suspect. Hugh had made no secret of his disdain…no, of his hatred for the marquess. He’d banished the iniquitous scoundrel from all his estates, extending no invitations, and avoiding the man if they both happened to be in town.

  MacGowan and Roddington were scheming together, and it suddenly occurred to Hugh that it must have been going on for some time. While Hugh had been making up the difference in Roddington’s profits, there was every likelihood that the scoundrel had been stealing those very profits from him. He’d been double-dipping.

  Hugh felt angry and frustrated enough to terminate Glenloch’s brandy trading altogether. And now that smuggling had become even more perilous than before, with customs agents poking nearby, and batsmen from Stonehaven, the people of Falkburn might be better off without the danger, too.

  Yet they needed the income. Hugh could manage well without it, but he could not take it away from them.

  There was no question that MacGowan and Roddington were out of it now. And Hugh decided he could put Niall MacTavish in charge of the operation. MacTavish could manage it well, in spite of his rudimentary reading and writing skills. No one would get anything past MacTavish, for he was an intelligent man and knew every aspect of the trade. And there was no doubt his first loyalty was to Hugh.

  But even with MacTavish in charge, Hugh could not leave the district while Roddington was still at large. He’d have thought the marquess would have hastened back to his usual, preferred, Cerberus amusements in London, having escaped the marriage that had been forced upon him.

  Yet that was not the case. And Hugh’s suspicious mind could not accept that Roddington and MacGowan had run across each other at the hotel by coincidence. Something was very wrong. And the murder of the customs surveyor only made it worse.

  Hugh heard a rider approaching the castle. Safely assuming it would be Mr. Sinclair, he put Brianna’s shoes into the box and set it on one of the steps to be carried upstairs with a maid. Then he returned to the library to await the man.

  Mrs. Ramsay went to the door and let in the guest, calling for one of her grandsons to come and take charge of his horse. Then she brought the man to Hugh. A moment later, Lachann Sinclair was coming toward him with his hand extended. “Laird Glenloch.”

  Hugh rose to meet the magistrate, and indicated a chair near his own. He intended to use his usual subtle manner to lead the man to certain conclusions, and direct him as far as possible from suspicions of free trading in Falkburn.

  “Have a seat and warm yourself, Mr. Sinclair.” He looked at the housekeeper, who awaited instructions. “I believe you are preparing luncheon, Mrs. Ramsay?”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  “Set a place for the magistrate, will you? And see if Lady Glenloch is ready to join us.”

  Mrs. Ramsay gave him a quick bend of the knee and left the library to summon Brianna. Hugh turned to Sinclair.

  “Thank you,” said the magistrate. “ ’Twas a long ride through the snow.” He was well-dressed in a heavy woolen suit with a dark blue waistcoat and neck cloth, and his strikingly handsome face was ruddy with the cold. “ ’Tis a clear sky, but bitter cold today.”

  “I haven’t been out, so I’ll take your word on it, Sinclair.”

  The man looked around the room. “I’ve never been to Glenloch,” he remarked. “ ’Tis an impressive place.”

  “Aye. More a fortress than a home, though.”

  “’Tis said it’s haunted.”

  Hugh believed Sinclair was referring to the ancient ghost—not Amelia—so he gave a nod. “There are noises that would make one believe so…The townspeople are a superstitious lot.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Sinclair remarked with a sociable laugh.

  “Tell me, have you any more information regarding Mr. Kincaid’s death?”

  Sinclair sobered. “Alas, no. It looks as though he was hit with a shovel, for the wound was more than a simple blow. Something broke the skin…Ah, well, you saw it yourself. It looked to the coroner like the edge of a shovel.”

  Hugh nodded. “Have you any better idea of what might have happened to the man?”

  The magistrate leaned forward. “Free traders, more than likely. Kincaid was investigating reports of a cutter down in these parts. We’re guessing he must have interrupted a shipment and run afoul of a batsman or two.”

  “We’ve heard rumors as well…of smuggling ships up a ways north of here.”

  “You mentioned a strong current in your cove. In which direction does it flow?”

  “From north to south. And it’s swift.”

  “So Kincaid’s body might have been dumped north of here and drifted south by the time Lady Glenloch saw it.”

  “That would be my guess. He might even have been killed in Stonehaven and his body drifted this far.”

  Sinclair paused to consider that possibility. “Have you heard anything else about the smuggling trade?”

  “I have a concern that my es
tate manager, Malcolm MacGowan, is involved.” He did not mention Roddington. The marquess was a master at escaping blame, only to turn suspicion on an accuser. It was dangerous enough for Hugh to implicate his former manager.

  “MacGowan, you say?” Sinclair asked, taking a pencil and a small ledger book full of scribbled pages from his pocket. Hugh watched him write MacGowan’s name on the first blank sheet.

  “Yes. Malcolm. A tall, stocky, red-haired man.”

  Sinclair looked up at Hugh. “We’ve no dearth of those, Laird.”

  “No, you’re right,” Hugh said, although he knew of no other who was brazen enough to cheat his employer. “I discovered some disturbing inconsistencies in the records this particular man sent me in London and was forced to come up here in this dreadful weather to see about them.”

  “And were you satisfied with what you found?” Sinclair asked.

  “Not exactly,” said Hugh, prevaricating. “I believe the man has been stealing from me for quite some time.”

  “Might you elaborate, Laird Glenloch?”

  “ ’Tis rather personal, Sinclair,” Hugh said. “But I will tell you that he and I had a bit of an altercation. I felt it necessary to tell him of my dissatisfaction, and upon further examination of the records, I intended to dismiss him from his post.”

  “ ’Twas serious, then.”

  “I would say so. But the point of the matter is that MacGowan has disappeared from Falkburn.”

  “Do you suspect foul play?”

  “Not against him, no. But he left the village only a few hours before my wife first saw Mr. Kincaid in the water.” Long enough for MacGowan to have ridden to Stonehaven.

  Sinclair frowned.

  “And there were whispers of the man’s involvement with free traders and Stonehaven batsmen.”

  Mr. Sinclair placed his book on his knee. “ ’Tis what I feared.”

  The conversation was going exactly as Hugh had hoped, with Hugh playing the magistrate like a finely crafted pianoforte. Each note was emerging just as it should. But then Brianna entered the room, and Sinclair stood abruptly at the sight of her.

  “Bria—er, Miss M-Munro!” he said, obviously startled by her arrival, and quite obviously a close acquaintance.

  Chapter 16

  Feather by feather, the goose is plucked.

  SCOTTISH PROVERB

  Hugh narrowed his eyes and went to her side. Taking her hand and placing it in the crook of his arm, he demonstrated his dominion. “Mr. Sinclair, my wife, Lady Glenloch. But apparently you know each other?”

  Brianna slipped away from Hugh and extended both hands to the magistrate. “Lachann Sinclair? It’s been a very long time!” she cried, taking his hands in hers.

  “A good three years, I would say. Ever since you went off to London and became too busy for your Scottish country friends.” The image of a dog slavering over a bone came to Hugh’s mind, the kind he’d like to kick from the room.

  “You’ve grown up!” she said, as though he was the only lad ever to have reached manhood.

  “You are more beautiful than when you left us, if that is even possible.”

  She smiled prettily at the man, and with the way Sinclair gazed down at her, Hugh thought he might have to crush the magistrate’s throat.

  “You are too kind.”

  “But Lady Glenloch now?”

  She blushed but did not answer as Mrs. Ramsay came to the doorway and interrupted the nauseating interchange. “Laird, luncheon is served.”

  Brianna slid her arm through Sinclair’s and walked beside him to the dining room. Hugh followed, resisting the urge to rush ahead and grab Brianna, and escort her there himself.

  He managed to exercise excellent restraint. What difference did it make that she’d had an admirer in Stonehaven? Muchalls was not very far north of Stonehaven, so Killiedown must be fairly close to town. The social interactions Brianna and Claire enjoyed were likely split between Aberdeen and Stonehaven. Of course she’d known him. Of course he’d desired her. What sensible man wouldn’t?

  But it occurred to Hugh that she had not gone to him, or to anyone else in Stonehaven for assistance when she’d fled from her wedding to Roddington.

  Sinclair assisted Brianna with her chair, then found his own seat across from her while Hugh took the end, to sit between them. And ended up subjecting himself to their reminiscences of past events.

  “Society became worse than dull in Stonehaven after you went down to London,” Sinclair said. “Even Lady Claire seemed to shun us while you were away.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Brianna said. “I believe she had close…friends in Aberdeen whom she liked to visit while I was away from home.”

  Home. It was a good reminder for Hugh. Her home was Killiedown Manor, and he was going to take her there later. Or perhaps it would be best to wait until the morrow, when they would be able to leave early.

  And then everyone in the district would learn that Laird Glenloch and his wife were estranged, and she would become prey to every handsome—as well as every randy—buck on the eastern coast.

  “ ’Tis understandable,” said Sinclair. “And now the most beautiful lass in Kincardineshire has returned to us as Lady Glenloch. ’Tis hard to believe.”

  Hugh unclenched his teeth. “Why might that be?”

  “Oh, no reason at all—just that every bachelor in Stonehaven will be crushed to learn that you are…taken.”

  Brianna flashed a look at Hugh, but quickly turned to her soup. Hugh inhaled a deep breath and took the moment to return to the discussion that had been interrupted by Brianna’s arrival in the library.

  “About Malcolm MacGowan,” he said, most definitely intending to prejudice the magistrate, as well as divert the conversation from the darling of Stonehaven.

  “Ah, yes.”

  “No one here or in Falkburn has seen him since the day Mr. Kincaid washed ashore.”

  Sinclair looked across the table at Brianna, and when Hugh noticed her sudden pallor, he realized he was being the worst possible cad, and never should have brought up such an indelicate subject. At lunch, no less. He clenched his teeth with the knowledge that his brain must have become addled by the syrupy conversation thus far.

  And yet he’d felt out of sorts ever since he’d left their bed that morn and come downstairs. It could only be due to lack of sleep.

  “I have some questions for you, Miss Munro—er, my lady. But perhaps I’ll wait until after the meal.”

  Brianna nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  They proceeded to engage in small talk, on subjects regarding Stonehaven’s social mavens and a few of their mutual friends. Hugh learned that Lachann Sinclair had read law in London, had become magistrate two years before, and had dealt with only one other case of murder in his district.

  Hugh thought there might be yet another, if the damned magistrate didn’t stop ogling Brianna’s décolletage.

  Hugh looked as though he was prepared to murder someone, and Brianna did not understand why. The conversation was progressing exactly as it should, with Lachann being directed away from the free trading at Glenloch, toward Mr. MacGowan.

  It was strange to see Lachann again, after her seasons in London. He was comely in his way, with coloring similar to her own, and fine gentlemanly features. But she felt no connection to him, and his magnetism could not compare to Hugh’s.

  They returned to the library after luncheon, and Brianna sat on the sofa where Hugh had made love to her the night before. She suppressed a shiver at the thought of it, of the worrisome intimacy she’d felt then, and again during the night.

  She knew such intense feelings could only hurt her. She’d learned more than enough about attachments that caused too much pain, and she wanted nothing more to do with them. ’Twas far better to banter with Lachann, the young man who’d flirted with her in good fun during her adolescence, than to allow herself to be distracted by the dark, brooding man who stood a few feet away, looking out the library win
dow.

  “Now I fear I must come to the business at hand, Lady Glenloch,” he said. “Will you tell me how you happened to notice Mr. Kincaid’s body?”

  “I was upstairs in one of the bedchambers,” she said, not at all pleased at having to recall what she’d seen. She swallowed and continued. “When I happened to look out the window, I saw something in the water.”

  “At that time, could you tell what it was?”

  “Not really. It was too far away, and there was no sun to speak of.”

  “Did you ever imagine it might be a body?”

  “Not until the clouds cleared and I was able to see better. Then, I admit, it did occur to me.”

  “Once you suspected it might be a person floating there, what did you do?”

  “I ran out to the stable, where my husband was.” Her husband. The words fell so easily from her tongue, and yet Hugh did not come to her then, or even turn toward her.

  But Lachann turned his attention to him. “What did you do, Laird?”

  “I went to the beach immediately, of course.” He came to stand by the table where they’d signed their marriage document and crossed his arms over his chest. “By that point, the body had drifted quite close, and we could see what it was.”

  “Were you able to reach it from shore?”

  “No,” said Brianna. She hesitated, biting her lip in dismay. “My husband had to get into a boat and…” She swallowed.

  “It was several yards out, so I had to row out to it and drag it back to shore.”

  Lachann asked the same questions again, but in different ways as he took down notes in his small book.

  “My lady, would you mind showing me the window through which you first saw the body?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll take him,” Hugh said. “ ’Twas the nursery, was it not?”

  Brianna nodded, but Lachann was not satisfied with the arrangement. “If you don’t mind, Laird, I’d like Lady Glenloch to point out exactly where she first saw the body.”

  ‘Twas clear that Hugh was not pleased, but he led the way to the staircase, then stepped aside for Brianna to precede him. Lachann followed, and they climbed the stairs, then walked down the long gallery to the nursery. A low-pitched howl sounded somewhere nearby, and Lachann stopped abruptly.