A Devil in Scotland

by Suzanne Enoch

  God, she hated already when he gazed at her like that, as if he could see straight through her skin and into her soul. Of course if he actually could do that, she wouldn’t have to keep defending herself about Ian’s death. “I’ll take that wager, sir. On one condition.”

  “Aye?”

  “That you won’t simply throw five pounds at me the moment we leave the house so you can continue berating and questioning everything I do or say.”

  “Agreed,” he said promptly, in his deep brogue.

  Since she stood there in her theater gown and coat, he’d left her with no other excuse not to join him. She was somewhat relieved, though, when the barouche appeared at the front of the house. He didn’t mean to drive them himself, and he hadn’t chosen a closed coach. Of course that might well be because he wanted to be seen again going about Inverness, rather than because he cared for her sensibilities.

  Outside he handed her into the barouche himself, then took the rear-facing seat opposite her. Hopefully her relief didn’t show on her face, but she would much rather be able to keep both eyes on him than have him seated directly beside her.

  “Are ye warm enough?” he asked abruptly, gesturing at the folded blanket on the seat next to her.

  “Yes, thank you. Are you?”

  “My knees are a wee bit chilly, but I’ll manage,” he returned. “There’re more lights along the river Ness than there used to be. It’s pretty.”

  “The population in Inverness grows every year. They may not call it the Clearances any longer, but villages in the countryside continue to shrink or vanish as their chiefs try to hold on to their lands.”

  “I see it in America,” he agreed, his mild tone a continuing and pleasant surprise. Perhaps he desperately needed the five pounds he’d wagered. “Half of Kentucky claims one clan or another. There isnae so much rivalry there, though. Mostly it’s Highlanders against the rest of the world trying to call the place home.”

  “So you … work with men from other clans?” she ventured. Ian had said something about a distillery, but Dunncraigh had been present and had turned it into some jest about how much liquor Callum must be consuming there, and she hadn’t brought it up again.

  “I employ about a hundred men from about a dozen clans, I’d reckon. At Kentucky Hills I’ve space for forty or so, but then I’ve the warehouse in Boston and the one we’re building now in Charleston for better distribution, plus the nearly finished one here in Inverness. I’ve discovered if I lease a warehouse from someone else, they tend to sample the wares.”

  “Then Kentucky Hills is yours alone?”

  He narrowed one eye, shifting a little as they bumped over the wooden, hollow-sounding Black Bridge. “How much did ye and Ian ken about where I was?”

  “As I said, Ian went to great expense to track you down. He told me a little, but…”

  “But ye didnae want to know any more than that,” he finished.

  “No, I didn’t. You broke Ian’s heart. You…” She hesitated. Where hearts were involved this was a tricky business, and telling him anything of her feelings, even more so. “You broke my heart, as well.” He opened his mouth to respond to that, but she lifted her hand. “Not the way you’re going to imply, I’m certain. You were my friend. My dearest friend.”

  “If I was all that, I dunnae think ye would have kept yer engagement a secret from me.”

  “Of course I would have. I did. I know you.”

  He shook his head. “Ye knew me,” he amended. “Ye dunnae know me.”

  That would seem to be accurate. She had no idea what to make of him now. “Very well. I knew you. I knew you would take it badly, which you did, so I didn’t want to broach the subject. Are you going to yell now and deny any of that?”

  “Nae, since we both saw what happened.” He blew out his breath. “I told ye I got letters I imagine were from Ian. I had my foreman toss them in the fire. Honestly, I didnae even want to touch them. I spent a time being spiteful. After that, I … I suppose I just didnae want to know. I left the lot of ye behind. I figured reading about yer life, how happy ye were, how many bairns ye had…” He rolled his shoulders, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “I didnae want to know I’d been wrong about ye getting tangled with Dunncraigh, and I didnae want to know I’d been correct.”

  “But you came back.”

  “Once that newspaper caught my attention, I couldnae pretend it hadnae. And I swore an oath.”

  “You didn’t swear anything to Ian,” she pressed, wondering if she wanted to be a part of this conversation, after all.

  “Nae. I swore to Dunncraigh.” He gave her a grim smile that sent a shiver down her spine. “I mean to keep my word.”

  “But what if you’re wrong?”

  “Then ye’ll have what ye wished for, Rebecca. Me, out of yer life. Permanently, this time.”

  He might have been referring to leaving again for Kentucky, but from his tone he seemed to mean something even more final. Rebecca shivered again. For heaven’s sake, before he’d returned she’d been finding her footing again. Everyone, even with the overly dramatic expressions of pity and behind-her-back murmurings, had been kind. She’d begun learning something about her father’s business. She had a suitor who seemed only to want the best for her. And now in two days Callum had dragged her into conspiracies and made her question everything around her.

  But as for his single-minded oath of vengeance, he’d already veered a little off the trail. “Why did you kiss me?”

  The barouche rolled to a halt, and he stood to unlatch the door and step to the street. “Because I’d been imagining doing it for ten years, and I wanted to know someaught,” he returned, holding out his hand.

  Trying not to show her hesitation, she clasped his warm fingers and stepped out of the vehicle. When he offered his arm, she wrapped her hand around it. “You wanted to know what?” she prompted, though every ounce of her shrieked at her not to ask the question. If he’d been imagining kissing her for ten years, she did not want to know why. Except that she did.

  “If ye were as curious about me.”

  “Well, I wasn’t.”

  The slight smile that curved his mouth this time was genuine, a remnant of the high-spirited, adventurous boy he’d once been. “Aye, ye were. And ye are. As for what that means, I reckon I’ll find out.”

  “You’re mistaken, Call—”

  “At the risk of losing five quid, lass,” he interrupted, “I’m willing to accuse ye of lying. Now smile and tell me all about the local gossip while we eat. I still have some catching up to do.”

  Rebecca wasn’t so certain about that. All of this might have caught him by surprise, and he’d had all of five weeks, most of them on a ship, to decipher as much as he had, but Callum MacCreath already seemed well ahead of her in discerning not only what he meant to accomplish, but what, precisely, he thought of her. And if she couldn’t catch up, or better yet change his mind, they would all be in a great deal of trouble.

  * * *

  “M’laird,” Dennis Kimes said, making another note on his third sheet of paper, “I cannae decipher all this in one morning. I do recognize some of the names, but I’ve nae way of knowing who else does business with them, or who the owners might be.”

  Callum shifted a stack of books and crossed his booted ankles atop them. “What do ye require, then?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Do I look as though I want lies from ye, Kimes?”

  The younger man paled a little. “Nae, m’laird. Honestly, then, I require a week, some assistance, and ye nae staring at me like the devil himself.”

  In his own opinion he’d been doing more glaring than staring, but it likely amounted to the same thing. “I’ll do ye two better,” he returned, standing carefully in the clerk’s tiny paper-and-book-strewn office. “I’ll give ye a week, an assistant, access to whichever papers I have still at MacCreath House, another lad to keep a watch over ye in case ye uncover someaught … interesting, and I’
ll ride out to Geiry Hall to collect whatever books might still be there.”

  Kimes looked up, the pen in his hand dripping ink as his fingers abruptly shivered. “To keep watch over me?” he repeated. “Is this going to get me murdered, m’laird?”

  “Nae,” Callum returned firmly. “It willnae. If there’s danger about, I mean to see that it’s aimed directly at me. That extra lad will remain by yer side, though, just to be certain.” That had to be a rule. No one else was allowed to be harmed either by Dunncraigh or by his own investigation into Ian’s death. And the more he considered it, the more he did want to know the exact details, exactly whom he owed a death, and why it had suddenly needed to go this far after ten years of apparent harmony.

  That made several other paths clear, as well. He did need to go to Geiry; he wanted to go, to see where Ian had driven that phaeton, where his brother had spent his last hours and days. But he couldn’t go alone. Not with the Maxwells here in Inverness.

  “If ye need me, send word by messenger. I’ll be but two hours away, and I’ll be back as quick as I can,” he stated, as he and Waya picked their way into the main part of the Crosby and Hallifax offices. “Make certain Mr. Crosby kens what ye’re about.”

  “Aye,” Dennis returned, following him out. “Will ye have someone watching out for him, as well?”

  “I’ll give ye a trio of lads from my warehouse here,” Callum decided. “Ye use them how and where ye see fit.” He turned around, taking a step back toward the shorter man. “And ye’re nae to trust anyone but those who already have yer confidence. Ye ken?”

  The clerk nodded. “Aye. And thank ye for having trust in me, m’laird.”

  Pushing back at his own impatience for answers, Callum inclined his head. “I’ve nae found a shilling missing in eight years, Dennis. The lot of ye have given me every reason to trust ye. Keep me informed.”

  With that he returned to the busy dockside streets. Waya at his side, he walked down to the water, taking in the sight of half a hundred ships loading cargo, unloading it, or jockeying for position in the harbor. The wealth to be had was almost tangible; no wonder Dunncraigh had dug in his claws the moment he saw a chance to grab some of it.

  What had it been, though, that had pushed the Maxwell to murder Ian? What opportunity had come along that the duke simply couldn’t share, couldn’t allow anyone else to partake of? That was what Callum needed Dennis Kimes to discover; without a reason, proving that a duke had committed a murder would be impossible.

  Of course in truth he only needed to satisfy himself. Once he knew for certain who’d done what and why, he would act, and everything else be damned. Callum rolled his shoulders, shaking off the sensation that fate waited in the wings. A good quarter of the ships in the harbor flew the small white and green flag of George Sanderson’s fleet—or rather, of Rebecca Sanderson-MacCreath’s. A portion of the profits of every voyage those ships made went into her coffers now. Even deducting the pay of the captain and crew, insurance, the ships themselves and their upkeep, she was worth a fortune.

  He frowned. Did she realize that? Had it occurred to her yet just how valuable a commodity she’d become? Because he would have been willing to wager everything he now owned that that fact hadn’t escaped Dunncraigh or his dear eldest son, Donnach Maxwell.

  Waya uttered a soft, low growl beside him. Stiffening, his hand instinctively going to the knife tucked into the back of his trousers, Callum turned around. Half a dozen men rode toward him, the one in the lead mounted on a muscular gray charger. They spread out as they approached, enclosing him in a half-circle with the harbor at his back.

  They could attempt to pen him in if they wished; the moment he recognized the stiff posture and lifted chin of the lead rider, flight became the last thing on his mind. He’d wondered when the Duke of Dunncraigh would deign to acknowledge his presence in Inverness, and it seemed he’d just found the answer to that question.

  It also meant the duke had someone keeping an eye on him, or they’d never have found him in the tangle of people and wagons about the harbor. That didn’t surprise him in the least, but he would have to take it into account from now on. He stood where he was, one hand on the knife handle, and let Waya move a step or two in front of him. And then he waited for them to finish closing in, as if that rendered Dunncraigh any safer from him.

  “Callum MacCreath,” the duke finally uttered. “I nae thought to see ye back on Scottish soil, lad.”

  “I nae thought to be here,” he returned. “But ye didnae have to come looking for me. I’d have gone to find ye, soon enough.”

  Deep-set green eyes assessed him. How much of that last conversation did Dunncraigh even remember? Callum doubted it had crossed the duke’s mind since, except perhaps when he’d felt the need to tell Ian he had all the friends and family he needed here, and he was lucky he’d run off that drunken brother of his before any harm could come of his association with the wastrel.

  “I didnae see any reason to delay,” the duke commented. “We are partners now, after all. Join me now for luncheon at the Olde Club, and we can discuss our business.” He glanced down at Waya. “I dunnae recommend ye bring that beast with ye, though.”

  The Olde Club, at the time he’d lived here, at least, had been the stiffest, most prestigious gentlemen’s club in Inverness. He’d set foot there once, in Ian’s company, and had detested every overstuffed moment of it. But this wasn’t about a pleasant luncheon, or the company he might find there. This was about information, and power. “Nae,” he returned easily. “I’d sooner set my own kilt on fire than sit at a table with the likes of ye, Dunncraigh.”

  A muscle in the older man’s cheek jumped, but otherwise his expression remained unchanged. “That’s nae wise, lad. We are partners, and it’s to yer own benefit to know yer business. At least I assume ye’ve nae idea of what yer dear brother had planned for the family MacCreath. But he confided in me, and it behooves me to help ye figure out all the twists and turns.”

  Every time Dunncraigh uttered the word “lad,” Callum wanted to punch him—which was likely what the duke intended. “I reckon ye can wait until I’m ready to meet with ye,” he retorted. “If ye care for a word, send a note. I dunnae recommend ye come calling at my home.” He smiled. “Nae doubt Stapp can testify to that.”

  “We left off poorly, lad,” the duke pursued. “Ten years is a long time to carry a grudge for someaught ye did to yerself. Let’s begin again, shall we?”

  “I reckoned that was what we were doing,” Callum said. “Ye brought yer wolves,” he went on, gesturing at the men surrounding him, “and I brought mine. I’d call the playing field level. Dunnae ye fret though, old man. I’ll be seeing ye again. Soon.”

  With that he walked off down the pier, eyeing the rider who blocked his path until the man backed his horse out of the way, then whistling Waya to heel. Dunncraigh had likely seen what he expected—the “lad” who drank too much and spoke too freely about whatever tickled his mind. Good. The less worry the duke had, the more likely he would be careless. Arrogant. Unmindful of any consequences for his actions. Especially the ones that he’d taken a year or so ago. Even if he wasn’t, Callum would find the chinks in the Maxwell’s armor.

  What concerned him at the moment was whether Rebecca had begun to find the chinks in his own, and what he meant to do about that. And about her.

  Chapter Seven

  The moment the coach stopped, Margaret flung open the door and nearly fell on her face to the ground. Before Rebecca could even gasp a warning, Callum grabbed the girl by the back of the gown and hauled her back inside the carriage. “What’s yer hurry, Mags?” he asked, setting her onto her feet.

  Of course he’d adopted the nickname the Scottish servants called Margaret—Mags would never do in London, for it sounded much more like the name of a shepherd’s daughter than that of an earl’s—but of course Maggie had now begun to refuse to acknowledge any other version of her name.

  Rebecca hadn’t realized how
much her daughter craved having a father about, because other than a slowly lessening recitation of where Ian had gone and the acknowledgment that he wasn’t coming back, Margaret had never attempted to replace him with Pogue or any of the other male servants, or even with Donnach or His Grace the duke. But however … confused she felt about Callum herself, Margaret clearly adored him.

  “I want to show you my bedchamber,” the little one returned. “And I forgot to wait for the steps.”

  As she spoke, the butler hurried out of the house and flipped down the coach steps himself. “My lady,” Duffy exclaimed. “And Lady Mags. I’d nae idea ye were…” He trailed off, his narrow face going gray, as Callum emerged from the coach. “Sweet, merciful Saint Andrew,” he intoned.

  Callum offered his hand. “Hello, Duffy. I didnae think to send word ahead, so ye can blame me for the surprise.”

  “M … Master Callum? I mean to say, Laird Geiry.” The butler shook his proffered hand vigorously. “I, that is, we, thought ye—”

  “Aye. I’m aware.” He turned around, offering that same hand to help Rebecca down from the coach.

  She should have been insulted, she supposed, that he treated a servant with the same deference he offered her, but that just seemed petty. She’d heard that Americans treated everyone equally, with no use for kings or lords, so perhaps he’d simply become accustomed to this greater familiarity. It suited him, actually. This new version of him, anyway.

  “My lady?” he prompted, wiggling his fingers.

  Shaking herself free of the thought of him in one of those raccoonskin hats and wearing a bear’s coat over his shoulders, she took his hand and allowed him to help her to the crushed-oyster drive. “Please see my things moved to the south corner room, Duffy,” she instructed, to save herself from being ordered to remove from yet another master bedchamber.

  “Aye, my lady. I’ll have it aired oot at once.” Gesturing, the butler took his new master’s bags himself while more footmen scrambled out of the house to collect her luggage and Margaret’s small trunk, and to aid the second coach, which carried Mary, her lady’s maid, and Agnes, the nanny. Callum didn’t have a valet, and she wondered if she should recommend Wallace, Ian’s former man.