She broke the kiss and rested her cheek on his chest.
“Oh, my dearest girl,” Max said, a great sadness rushing in where the hope had blossomed. “How will I bear to look at you and want you? What am I going to do with you?”
She released herself from his grip and went to the fireplace, where she knelt and gathered the pieces of crystal he’d broken into a pile. “Ye’ll make up your mind to become a different man. No more outbursts, or drownin’ your sorrows in the drink.”
“I don’t like to be lectured to.”
“What ye don’t like would fill a large book. Ye’re spoiled, Max Rossmara. Spoiled and entirely too used t’gettin’ your own way. It doesna make ye attractive, and it’s t’stop.”
Only Kirsty could speak to him so and not inflame him. “I don’t drink a great deal,” he told her, and it was true. “A man should feel free to take a glass of liquor when the mood takes him.”
“The mood takes ye when ye’re angry. That’s no’ the best time, Max, and ye know it. If ye can do this when ye’re sober”—she indicated the rubble of the bowl—“well, then, I’d no want t’be near ye if ye weren’t sober and ye felt like tossin’ precious things around. Who’d know what ye’d choose t’break things on.”
“The episode won’t be repeated. There, see how you dictate my actions. I’m like a pet cat in your hands.”
She smiled a little. “An awful big pet cat wi’ a loud voice when he’s no’ pleased, but I’m glad t’hear it anyway.”
He sobered. “But I’m desolate, Kirsty. Help me learn to bear not being able to have you.”
“I’ll help ye. Ye’ll no’ suffer.”
How could a woman, and an inexperienced girl to boot, know the power of a man’s desire? “I’ll look forward to finding out how you’ll manage that, miss.”
“We’ll manage it together. I’m goin’ t’be your mistress.”
Chapter Nineteen
“You will allow me to do the talking,” Struan said. “After all, Max is my son and my responsibility.”
“Am I wrong, or am I almost thirty-one?” Max raised his face to the sky as if considering. “Perhaps I’ve miscalculated and inadvertently added a great many years to my age. Yes, that’s what must have happened. No. Oh, how could I be so foolish, I reversed the numbers, didn’t I? I’m thirteen.”
“I’ll be the one to discuss the matter,” Arran said, as if Max hadn’t said a word. “In case you’ve forgotten, Struan, I am the elder, and I am the Laird of Kirkcaldy.”
Struan snorted. “As if I’d ever be allowed to forget. You remind me constantly.”
“No such thing,” Arran said, spurring his mount to greater speed as they rode downhill, away from the castle. “You have always been difficult, Struan. You were a difficult child, and we will not discuss how difficult you were when you entered your twenties.”
“Because I chose to go into the Church? That made me difficult?”
“You did so to place the entire burden of this estate on my shoulders. And we both know you could have brought disaster on our heads with your behavior.”
“Can we save this discussion?” Max said, glancing back at Kirsty, who rode her little mare very slowly and carefully, even more so than usual. He still could not believe the declaration she’d made. “And could we go a little slower— under the circumstances?” He loaded his words with meaning, but evidently his father and uncle missed the nuance.
They rode ahead of him, their voices raised. “Do you intend to remind me that my years studying for the priesthood were brought to an unhappy end?” Struan asked. “Because if you do, I’ll not ride in your company.”
Arran chortled. “Hardly your fault if the flesh became weak, old chap.”
“That’s it.” Struan wheeled about and rode beside Max. “It wasn’t my flesh that was weak. It was all the fault of a scheming female who took advantage of my nubile body,” he called to Arran.
Arran sputtered with laughter, and said, “Nubile? As you say. But I will speak to the Mercers. They trust me.”
Max looked back and found Kirsty had fallen even farther behind. She had not wanted to accompany them on this visit, insisting that she should await a summons from her parents.
“The Mercers respect me as a man of God,” Struan said. “And because they adore Justine, they will accept whatever I say.”
“You think they respect Justine—whom we all respect, of course—more than they do Grace? Why Grace, they consider an angel. She is a frequent visitor in their home.”
“I shall speak for myself,” Max said.
“You can’t trust the young these days,” Struan said.
“They make foolish, rash decisions with no consideration for the trouble they may cause. Then they expect their elders to clean up the mess they make.”
“If you’re speaking of me, I am not a child. I have not deliberately made any mess. And I don’t want your assistance in this matter—other than to be present because the Mercers respect you both. But that was probably a mistaken notion on my part. In fact, why don’t the two of you strike out for the north, and Kirsty and I will follow you when—”
“These whippersnappers never accept the blame for their own foolish actions.” Arran rode a little harder. He was a very large, very powerful man who rode a huge black animal that most men would have avoided at all costs. He liked to gallop across his lands at a great pace. “Imagine. The foolhardy boy literally abducted Robert and Gael’s girl and bore her away to the castle, and then thought they wouldn’t be nervous about such a thing.”
“She already worked at the castle,” Max called after Arran. “She simply has another job and lives there, rather than tramping back and forth every day. Most of the staff live there. And you knew my intention. I believed you approved.”
“As if it weren’t bad enough,” Struan shouted to his brother, “he installed her in rooms where he is the closest breathing creature during the night hours. And I suppose he thought such a thing wouldn’t be noted by others, who would then talk about it. A young, single girl of fine character and a disreputable rake whose record of questionable morals is the talk of the land.”
“Good God!” Max pounded after his father. “Where do you get such propaganda? Questionable morals? What time have I had to develop questionable morals? I’ve worked for the two of you since I left Oxford, and apart from journeys to overseas on estate business, I’ve barely had time for myself.”
“This marriage will cool him down,” Struan said. “Don’t you agree, Arran?”
Arran was too far ahead to hear. He galloped downhill toward the cluster of buildings at the bottom of the hill.
“Infuriating,” Max said, to no one in particular. “And deliberate. I’m supposed to hear every word and mend my ways, but I’m not given a chance to defend myself.”
Kirsty had fallen so far back that he feared she would decide to return to the castle. He went to meet her. “Come, Kirsty. You can do much better than this.”
“I dinna want t’go.”
“So you have told me on a number of occasions today. It’s important for your family to see that you are all in one piece and, in fact, doing well.”
“They’ll think I’m showin’ off. Ridin’ a fine horse.”
“You’re riding a little mare who is very suited to your nature. It would be impossible for you to perform all the duties I have in mind for you if you didn’t ride.”
She gave the mare’s neck a tentative stroke. “She’s a sweet, wee thing. Could I no’ wait here for ye? I know the three o’ ye will say the right things. I’d be so verra happy if my mother and father sent word that they’d like me to come t’them.”
When she spoke so persuasively his resolve wavered. “I think it’s best this way,” he said. “You are quiet people, I know, and thoughtful. You like to work things out alone and in your own way, but sometimes a lot of time can pass that way, a lot of unhappy time when it doesn’t have to be so.”
A movement on
the high horizon caught Max’s attention. He’d heard talk of a lone rider, now he thought he saw him.
“That one alone,” Kirsty said. “No one knows who he is.”
Max shielded his eyes from the light. “He’s watching us, damn his nerve. On our land. If I’d the time, I’d track him down and demand an explanation.”
As if the stranger heard, he raised an arm in a wave, then dropped from sight on the other side of the hill.
“No matter,” Max said, smiling at Kirsty. “I want you to be happy.”
She surprised him by leaning to pat the nose of his own mount. “Soft,” she said, “like velvet. I’ll do what ye think is best. You’re going to be my guide, Max. In a great many things—and until ye don’t want t’be that guide anymore.”
He caught her hand, brought his horse closer, and raised Kirsty’s fingers to his mouth. “I’d like us to guide each other—always.”
A shout went up. A shout, and an animal’s snorting whinny. Max wheeled about.
“It’s the marquess,” Kirsty said, urging her mare forward. “Och, he’s fallin’, Max. Be quick!”
“Arran,” Max yelled, surging forward. “You stay where you are, Kirsty.”
He’d turned just in time to see Arran hit the rough ground while his horse’s hind legs plunged into a hole.
Struan had already leaped from his mount and dashed to his brother.
With terror in his breast, Max spurred his own horse headlong downhill, drawing up as he came level with a gash in the earth that had claimed the stride of Arran’s horse. The creature had all but cleared the place when his back legs must have caught the rim of the hole.
“The horse,” Arran cried. “See to the horse.”
His uncle’s voice was the sweetest sound to Max’s ears. Fearing the worst, he did as Arran instructed and dismounted. Spewing lather, Arran’s great black beast writhed, but as Max grabbed for his reins he felt it gain some balance. Scrambling, it made an ungainly way to level ground, and would have made it away had Max not clung to its bridle and driven his bootheels into loose scree.
Kirsty trotted beside him and slipped to the ground. “I’m needed,” she said. “I must tend the marquess.” With that she dropped the mare’s reins. The little creature moved a safe distance from Arran’s snorting animal and waited patiently.
Leading his own, and Arran’s horses, Max swiftly followed Kirsty. At the sight of blood streaking his uncle’s face, his pulse quickened. With Struan’s arm around his shoulders, Arran sat up, his forearms on his knees, and Max praised the Lord that the man was as strong as an ox— stronger, some said.
“What happened?” Max asked. “Didn’t you see the hole?”
Arran raised slightly dazed eyes. Rather than answer the question, he looked at his horse, and said, “He’s not hurt?”
“Only his temper,” Max said, laughing—as much from relief as humor. “But he’s a bad-tempered beast, and I wouldn’t want him for my own.”
“You aren’t getting him for your own,” Struan said gruffly, kneeling beside Arran now. “So don’t ask for him.”
Max shook his head, but said nothing. There were times when he wished he’d had a brother with whom he shared the kind of closeness these two had been blessed to share.
“Your head, Your Lordship,” Kirsty said, tentatively touching Arran’s brow. “It needs cleanin’ properly. I’ll tend it for ye. Ye’ve other pain?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Arran said, and attempted to get up. He winced and wrapped an arm around his chest. “I must speak with your parents. I’ll take my horse, Max.”
“Ye’ll sit where ye are the while,” Kirsty said. With no concern for her fine wine-colored riding habit, she scooted on her knees until she could open Arran’s coat and ease his arm away. She pressed the place he’d favored, and air hissed in through his teeth. “It’s the bones in your chest. Ye’ll no’ want t’use the arm this side till they’re healed.”
“Rubbish,” Arran said, making it to his feet. But when he took another breath, he grimaced and bent over. “Damn. How could I have ridden right into that?”
Max’s question exactly, but he didn’t respond.
A babble of voices reached them. Struan looked past Arran. “Help on the way,” he said with false cheer. “Why aren’t I surprised to see Robert Mercer in the lead?”
“Fuss over nothing,” Arran said. “I’ll have a word and get back to Kirkcaldy.”
“Ye’ll gi’ yoursel’ time t’be quiet,” Kirsty told the man who had fostered both respect and affection in his tenants.
The party of men and boys arrived, and Robert Mercer went to Arran direct. “Your horse threw ye. I didna think any horse would dare t’do such a thing t’ye.”
Arran chuckled, and immediately coughed and sank to the ground again.
“He shouldn’t ride back,” Struan said. “I’ll go and—”
“We’ll take His Lordship in a cart,” Robert said. “If ye’ve no objection, that is.”
Several men had already started downhill again.
“I’m all right,” Arran grumbled.
“He’s broken bones in his chest,” Kirsty said, speaking for the first time since her father had arrived. “Mother has some strips of cloth we could use to ease the pain.”
Father and daughter stared at each other while the other men looked on. Robert broke the silence. “Verra well. My house is closer, Your Lordship. Will ye allow us t’take ye there and make ye more comfortable? After all, ye were comin’ t’speak o’ somethin’ anyways, were ye not?”
“We’ll do that,” Struan said quickly. “And you have our thanks.”
Kirsty braced Arran’s arm across his chest and held it there as if her strength was enough to make a difference.
Max glanced at the faces of those men who had remained and, one by one, they avoided his eyes. Damn them. They had judged him, judged Kirsty, yet they were guilty of nothing—yet. Deliberately formal, he said, “You have experience with such injuries, Miss Mercer?”
She nodded, “Aye. Niall took a tumble when we were small, and he suffered the while. Several weeks. But the bones healed well enough because he did as he was told.” She loaded her words with significance, and Arran glowered at her.
Niall. Max searched around but saw no sign of Niall Mercer, he who had promised to be present for the discussion with Kirsty’s parents. Max frowned, but was diverted by more shouts from below as the returning men urged on a nag pulling a cart without sides. The sorry vehicle arrived soon enough. Blankets had been spread on the rough wood, and Arran managed a good-natured smile when the gathered band lifted him on top and propped him against sacks of grain.
“Turn toward the pain,” Kirsty ordered. “It helps. I remember that.”
Arran did as he was told and nodded, but soon hissed some more as the conveyance bore him over bumpy ground toward Robert Mercer’s house. Struan rode beside, drawing Arran’s horse with him, and was oblivious to anything but his brother.
“I’ll go t’help my mother,” Kirsty said. “She’s never been a strong woman, y’know. And she loves the marquess. She’ll be beside herself worryin’ about him.”
“I know,” Max said, but his thoughts were on other things. “Go to her. I’ll be along shortly.”
She looked troubled, but didn’t question his reason for remaining behind.
Max waited until she’d set off, leading the mare rather than riding, then he swung back into his saddle and returned to the place where Arran had been thrown. He walked his horse around the area, studying the hole. Not so much a hole as an area where the earth was soft and fallen away.
He dismounted and went to his knees. Where Arran’s mount had lost its footing, grooves scarred the churned ground. At the bottom of the grooves water mixed with rocks and soil in a muddy mire.
How long had it taken to do this? And it had been deliberately done. Very recently someone—someone strong— had dug away the earth, replaced the softer surface dirt in
the bottom of the hole, added rocks and poured water on top, then replaced some of the harder earth from beneath. Any heavy animal hitting such a spot would be bound to come to grief—and its rider with him.
There hadn’t been any prior mention to anyone else that Arran and Struan might come today, and certainly not of Kirsty’s presence that Max could remember.
A man’s shadow rolled out over the ground.
Max remained on his knees, but raised his face and looked into Niall Mercer’s eyes. Niall returned the stare, but his sun- and wind-tanned face flushed.
“You thought I would come alone,” Max said.
Niall kicked a clump of hard earth. His clothes were filthy. “Ye said ye would.”
“That’s true, I suppose. At least, I didn’t say anyone was coming with me.”
“Why didn’t ye tell me?”
“Because I didn’t think to.”
“Ye always ride like a wild one,” Niall said. “Straight downhill with never a bit o’ fear. We all know it.”
Max pointed to the ground. “Someone worked fast to make this. They hadn’t much time to get it finished. I expect that’s why they didn’t dig it wide enough. It was all a matter of luck, or the lack of it. Just the right stride and the horse plunges in, just the wrong stride and he clears it.”
Niall hung his head, and Max was reminded that although the other man was physically mature with the heavy muscles of one who had worked hard all his life, he was just twenty, not much more than a boy.
“Clever idea,” Max said. “Easy enough to cover up the truth afterward.”
Spreading his hands, Niall made no attempt to keep the frustration from his expression. “I’ll make no fuss when they come for me.”
“Have you arrested? What would that accomplish? Other than to deal your parents and Kirsty another blow.”
Niall frowned. “I could have killed someone.”
“You wanted to.”
“No’ the marquess.” The pain in Niall’s voice might have touched Max if he didn’t know what the intent had been. “And no’ ye, either. I was desperate, and I didna know what t’do.”
The Wish Club Page 24