A Devil in Scotland

by Suzanne Enoch

  “I’m going with you,” she stated, the clench of her jaw enough to tell him that it wouldn’t do any good to argue.

  He nodded. “Good. And if I find someaught, ye’re going to stop telling me I’m mad, and ye’ll listen to what I’ve been telling ye.”

  “Agreed. Because you won’t find anything.”

  For the devil’s sake, she was a stubborn lass. But then she’d had better than a year to reconcile losing the two men closest to her. He needed to be respectful of that. Aye, six weeks ago he’d been ready to doom her with the rest of the rats. But the past few days had convinced him that she was just as much a victim as Ian—she merely didn’t know it yet.

  It was well past nightfall when they drew up in front of MacCreath House, to find another coach there before them and blocking half the street. The crest on the door, a lion standing on a wolf, made his jaw clench—and not simply because of the metaphor. Dunncraigh.

  He grabbed for the handle of his own coach, barely slowing when Rebecca snatched at his sleeve. “Don’t, lass,” he growled.

  “You’re his partner,” she whispered after him. “This is business.”

  “I’m nae his partner.”

  “Your accountant would say otherwise.”

  Shrugging free, he kicked out the step and descended to the ground. Seeing Pogue approach from the house, he gestured at the pair of vehicles behind him. “See to the lasses,” he ordered, stalking up to the Maxwell’s heavy coach.

  The door opened as he reached it, and Dunncraigh himself stepped to the ground. “Good evening, Lord Geiry.”

  “Ye’re in my way,” Callum grunted. “Get out of it.”

  “I wanted a word with ye, lad,” the Maxwell returned, his words smooth despite the hard set to his eyes. “We’ve another business, one located in Knightsbridge down in London, that wants to do its shipping with Lady Geiry’s fleet, but there’s a matter of a signature or two still required.”

  “And so ye came and sat in yer coach all day long and waited for me?” Callum returned. “The bloody Maxwell, himself? Or was it that ye had the road watched, so ye knew I was headed back into town?”

  “Or is it that Donnach and I’ve come by for the past few days, hoping to catch ye without having to darken yer door?” the duke countered. “This is business. We dunnae have to be friends for business.”

  “Whose signature do you need, Your Grace?” Rebecca asked from close behind him.

  “A month ago yers would have sufficed, my dear,” the duke returned with a warm smile that made every muscle in Callum’s body go taut. “But Callum here has been recognized by the courts, I hear, so it must be all three of us.” He put an arm on her shoulder, and Callum nearly flattened him. “Will ye give me a moment with the lad, Rebecca?”

  “Certainly.” She stepped away, leaning toward Callum as she did so. “Behave,” she breathed.

  “Nae,” he returned in the same tone.

  “Now. Walk with me, will ye?”

  “I thought we went through this already. I’m nae walking with ye.”

  Beneath the street’s lamplight Dunncraigh’s smile faltered a little before he resumed it again. “I dunnae think ye want either of the lasses to hear what I mean to say to ye, lad. Walk with me.”

  Margaret stood in the doorway, chatting to Pogue about wolf packs, while Rebecca had returned to wait behind her, one hand on her daughter’s shoulder. Scowling, Callum turned back to the duke. “Waya, guard Margaret,” he ordered. With a low growl the wolf sent a look at Dunncraigh, then walked away, tail down. “The wolf doesnae like ye, either, Dunncraigh,” he said, and began stalking up the street. “She can smell carrion.”

  “Ye’ve picked up an interesting companion. I’ll give ye that.” The duke matched his pace as they continued away from the house. “I hear ye began a brewery in America. The only way for ye to slake yer thirst these days, aye?”

  “If that’s how we’re beginning, I foresee ye taking a swim in the river by the end of this conversation,” Callum returned, rather than answering. Let the Maxwell think what he wished. There were other men who’d found that underestimating him could be fatal, as well.

  “Ye’re a strapping lad, now. I’ll grant ye that. But I ken who ye are, Callum. Ye’re a man who craves adventure, nae wanting to rest yer head in the same place twice. I can make that possible for ye.”

  Abruptly interested in more than just trading threats and insults, Callum slowed his pace. “And how is it ye reckon ye know me?”

  “I heard ye, the night ye left. And yer brother told tales of ye all the time, how ye wished to visit China and Africa and cross the Atlantic to see the southern Americas. I can give ye that.”

  He could have it now if he wished it, but that wasn’t the point of this conversation, clearly. “I’m the earl now. I have duties.”

  “If ye hadnae made an appearance within the next few weeks the title would’ve gone to yer cousin James, as I reckon ye’ve been told. A fine, bright lad, by the way. With a good head for business. I very much doubt the courts would fight ye if ye decided ye couldnae accept the responsibility and ye handed it over to him.”

  “Aside from the fact that James has the smarts of a mushroom and ye know it, that plan of yers sounds like it would make me considerably less wealthy.”

  Dunncraigh folded his hands behind his back, reminding Callum of nothing so much as a vulture waiting for its dinner to die. “I’ll be honest with ye. Ye’ve a large share in a business where I’ve sunk a great deal of my money and my time. And the idea of a reckless lad with a penchant for too much drink having that much control over my future doesnae sit well with me. So I’m asking ye to sign over yer share of Sanderson’s fleet to me, and I’ll definitely be generous with yer compensation.”

  “How generous?”

  “I’ll give ye thirty thousand quid for it, lad. That’s more than it’s worth, but it’ll see ye well gone from here and in considerable style. Ye could purchase a kingdom in China with that amount of blunt. In fact, ye dunnae have to sell it to me. Just go away and leave the running of it to me or to yer cousin. The thirty thousand’ll still be yers.”

  For a moment Callum considered that the idiot he’d been ten years ago would have jumped at the offer. Taking responsibility off his shoulders and paying him for the privilege? Leaving him free to drink and whore on every continent and island between here and Australia and back again?

  Now, though, he had more important things to ponder. Had that been it? Had Dunncraigh resented Ian and George having the reins to the shipping business? Had Ian protested against his increased involvement or some new commerce the duke favored? Dunncraigh had as much as said he didn’t like anyone else steering his ship. Was that reason enough for a murder? Two murders, even?

  Callum gave a slow nod. “I’ve a counterproposal for ye, Yer Grace. I’ll take my third of the shipping business and run it as I goddamned see fit. Ye’ll take yer arse off my street and go fuck yerself. I know what ye did. And I know what ye’re trying to do by having Stapp court Rebecca.”

  The duke’s face darkened. “I—”

  “Shut yer gobber. I’m talking,” Callum cut him off. “Him marrying her would give ye two-thirds ownership. Then all ye’d need to do would be to buy off my gullible cousin with some blunt and flattery, and it’d be all yers. Or ye could pay him to leave the running of the business to ye, and ye’d have nearly the same outcome. Ye’re nae fooling me. Ye ken shipping is where the new money’s to be made, and ye dunnae want to share. Just as ye didnae want to settle for the profits of renting a pier to Sanderson’s.”

  “Whoever ye think ye are, MacCreath, ye’re clan Maxwell,” the duke retorted, his green eyes narrowed. “I’m the Maxwell. I’ll nae abide ye ever speaking to me that way again. Take what I offer ye and go away.”

  “I’m nae going anywhere, Dunncraigh. By my way of thinking a man who murders for greed sells his soul to the devil. I mean to help Auld Clootie collect yers. And I dunnae think we should make
him wait much longer.”

  “Och,” the duke retorted. “I’ve seen yer sort before, lad. Ye’re a disappointment to yer family, looking for proof of someaught that didnae happen just so ye can hold up yer head again. Ye cannae act without that proof, or the world’ll nae view ye as anything but what ye are—a failure. Give up. There’s nae a thing here for ye.”

  The duke couldn’t have been more in error. Callum had nothing to prove to the world. In fact, the knife tucked into his boot would already have kissed the duke’s throat except that he’d promised one person proof before he acted. One person stood between Dunncraigh and the grave. And at that moment Callum remained motionless, debating whether he would be willing to give up a chance for anything with Rebecca in exchange for immediate, final revenge.

  “Is there anything ye require, m’laird?” Pogue asked, the butler abruptly appearing, a lantern in his hand, from the direction of the house. He trailed behind a trio of Dunncraigh’s men, Callum noticed belatedly, the hounds no doubt attracted by the commotion.

  He shook himself free of his bloodlust. Whatever he wanted to do, meant to do, Rebecca still trusted the Duke of Dunncraigh and his son. Callum had to prove them unworthy of her trust and her compassion before he acted. And that was purely for her sake. Not for theirs. Not for himself, because he already knew. The bloody butler had just earned an increase in his salary for giving him a moment to find that clarity. “Some tea and biscuits would be grand, aye,” he said aloud.

  The duke forced a laugh that wouldn’t have fooled a bairn. “We’re finished chatting.” Dunncraigh took a half-step closer. “Ye rant all ye like, Geiry. It’ll make ye sound more like a fool than ye already are, and however loud ye bellow, ye’ll nae prove a word of any wrongdoing in court.”

  “What makes ye think I’ll take this to the law?” Callum murmured, holding the duke’s gaze for a hard quartet of heartbeats before he turned on his heel.

  “Callum?” Rebecca said quietly as he passed her and stalked into the house.

  “Get inside and stay there,” he snapped, and headed for Ian’s—his—office.

  Oh, dear. She’d seen this before, countless times. Ian and Callum would argue about something, usually Callum’s recklessness, and then Callum would stomp off somewhere and get drunk and make things even worse. It had been frustrating and predictable back then. Now, it could be dangerous. He wasn’t twenty years old with no power and no responsibilities. And while she could flee if necessary, Margaret could not—which meant neither of them could do so.

  “Maggie, please take Agnes and your wolf pack upstairs,” she said calmly, stepping into the foyer as their luggage passed them by. “It’s nearly your bedtime.”

  “I don’t want to be Maggie,” her daughter said, frowning.

  “No?” With some difficulty Rebecca tore her attention from the closed door at the end of the hall. “Who do you want to be, then? I already told you that ‘the Splendid Princess Margaret of the Faerie Realms’ is too long to remember.”

  “You just remembered it,” the girl pointed out. “But I want to be Mags. That’s what Highlanders call me, and I’m half Highlander. And Uncle Callum calls me Mags.”

  She’d known this was coming, blast it all. “Mags is very informal,” she countered. “In London they will say you’re being too familiar.”

  “I’m nae in London.”

  Rebecca shut her eyes for a moment. “You’re not in London.”

  “And that’s why I can be Mags.”

  Agnes gave a quiet snort, covering it with a cough.

  Outmaneuvered by a six-year-old. “Very well. Here, you may be Mags.” Catching the nanny’s dark-eyed gaze over Margaret’s head, she angled her chin toward the stairs. “Remember to leave the door open for the wolf. I’ll be up in a moment to say good night.”

  “Of course. Wolves sometimes need to roam.”

  Yes, they did. And that was what worried her about the other wolf in the pack. Once Margaret and the rest of them vanished upstairs, she moved quietly down the hallway until she reached the office. Nothing she’d ever said or done ten years ago had prevented his drinking, and more than likely she should simply turn in for the night and leave him to destroy himself as he chose. Having him gone would return her life to normal—or what had become normal over the past year, anyway.

  She lifted her hand to knock, but paused again. The last time she’d been alone in his company he’d nearly kissed all her clothes off, his passion raw and addictive. And then, he’d been sober. Taking a breath, she knocked. Perhaps she’d become addicted.

  “What?” he said, from somewhere beyond the door.

  “It’s Rebecca.”

  “Go away. I dunnae want to hear why ye think I’m wrong. Nae now.”

  Mentally crossing her fingers, Rebecca lowered the handle and pushed open the door anyway. Callum stood glaring out the dark window, his fists on his hips. A half-full glass of whisky sat on the desk, with no sign of the decanter or bottle.

  “What in heaven’s name did you say to His Grace?” she demanded.

  He whipped around to catch her gaze. “Go ask him, if ye’re so curious,” he snapped.

  “Perhaps I will, then,” she retorted. “He’s been far kinder to me than you’ve been. In fact, I’d be foolish to have any empathy for you at all.”

  “Aye, ye would be.” Lowering his arms, he strode up to her. “I’ve a question for ye, Becca. The man offered me thirty thousand quid to go away. I didnae even have to hand over my shares of Sanderson’s. Just leave. Why do ye reckon he’d be willing to part with that kind of blunt and nae have control of the business?”

  “Because you don’t simply make trouble. You are trouble. I would imagine he thinks that you’d counter anything he proposed to aid or increase profits, just because you don’t like him.”

  His shoulders lowered. “Ye need to develop a better instinct for self-preservation, lass,” he muttered. “Do ye truly nae see it?”

  “See what? That I have money and a fleet that will go to whomever I marry? Of course it will.”

  “Aye. And if yer da’ had died before Ian, all that property of yers would be mine, now. I—or Ian—would have two-thirds ownership. Do ye honestly think Donnach Maxwell would still be courting ye if that were so?”

  Rebecca opened and closed her mouth again, her thoughts bouncing between affront and horror. “Bad things happen, Callum. And perhaps Donnach is courting me because we’ve been acquainted for ten years, and he cares for me.” As for the order of deaths, it felt like he was only looking for ways to make a horrible set of circumstances even worse. Tragedy didn’t require a conspiracy. It made sense as she thought it, so she decided to say it aloud. “Tragedy does not require a conspiracy.”

  Callum, though, had tilted his head again in the way that made her think him vulnerable, despite the fact that she knew him too well to be fooled. “He cares for ye, ye say,” he took up, clearly not even hearing the last thing she’d uttered. “Do ye care for him, then?”

  Was he jealous? “First of all, that’s none of your affair,” she retorted. “Second of all, no one’s feelings but yours seem to matter, so don’t expect me to expose mine to your ridicule.”

  “Have yer secrets then, Rebecca,” he said more quietly. “I dunnae think ye had a thing to do with this, and so whether ye want me about or nae, I mean to keep ye safe. Ye and Margaret. Ye dunnae have to like what I do, but know that as much as I mean to end Dunncraigh, I’ll see to it that ye and the lass are protected.” He took a slow step closer, bending down a little to reach for her hand. “I do recommend ye nae pin yer hopes on Stapp. And if he does have yer heart, then I suppose I apologize to ye in advance for what I mean to do to him.”

  God, he was so blasted stubborn! “If you’re apologizing to me,” she returned, refusing to back away when he continued directly up to her, “don’t stop with my injured heart. You’ve always been a wildfire, without aim or direction. Your … antics have singed me before. So however safe you t
hink to make Margaret and me, we’re still directly in the middle of this. And if you begin murdering people left and right, people connected to me, at the best I will face censure. I might face arrest. How will you protect Mags when you and I are both shipped off to Australia?”

  He scowled, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “I said ye’ll be safe. Ye will be. If ye dunnae get asked to a soiree over it, well, aye, I reckon I’m willing to apologize for that, too.” He tightened his fingers around hers. “If being singed a little is what truly troubles ye, it’s likely just as well ye decided nae to join me ten years ago when I asked ye to.” Callum placed her palm against his chest, and she could feel the hard beat of his heart beneath her fingers. “I mean to burn them down to ashes, aye. Them. But that isnae what troubles ye, is it?”

  “Callum, you don’t know for certain if anything untoward happened at all. I don’t wish to see you hurt because you can’t forget ten-year-old wounds.”

  “I could forget those wounds, lass. I don’t give a damn about Dunncraigh or Stapp. I earned my embarrassment and exile. They didnae do it to me. If they had naught to do with Ian dying, they’d nae enter my thoughts again.”

  “It’s me you haven’t forgiven, then? Is that what you’re saying? Because those kisses didn’t feel like anger or revenge. They felt like—”

  He bent his head and kissed her before she could finish her thought. “Felt like what?” he murmured against her mouth.

  Sin. Lust. Need. All the things she thought she didn’t want from him, but nevertheless seemed to crave. She kissed him back, breathing in his heady scent of leather and shaving soap. Sliding her arms up over his shoulders, she sank into the heat of him, into the heady sensation of being wanted.

  Leather and shaving soap. Rebecca pulled back a little, looking up at him from inches away. “You haven’t been drinking,” she breathed, studying his two-colored gaze.

  “What?”

  “I know you,” she persisted. “You get angry about something, and you go get drunk. But you haven’t had anything to drink today.”